Words. Love ’em. Why don’t we keep more words? English is good at words, keeping hoards and scraps and tidbits of vocabulary gleaned or borrowed or outright stolen from everywhere else.

Just ran across this one, while skimming excerpts of Beowulf in Old English: unbliðe. It’s translated as “joyless”, but I think that it would translate more literally and, I feel, poetically, to “unblithe”.

It tastes good on the tongue. Unblithe, with a soft, drawn out ‘th’ sound to lengthen the word and make it gentler, more intensely sorrowful.

Why didn’t we keep that one, I wonder?