tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90119206003905829872024-03-12T20:14:20.319-07:00The Lady's PoemsThe Poetry Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09744084259498229574noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011920600390582987.post-4070976013000662742011-09-08T06:20:00.000-07:002011-09-08T06:20:58.956-07:00The Lady of ShalottOn either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott.<br />
<br />
Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Through the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.<br />
<br />
<br />By the margin, willow veil'd, Slide the heavy barges trail'd By slow horses; and unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd Skimming down to Camelot: But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott?<br />
<br />
<br />Only reapers, reaping early, In among the bearded barley Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly; Down to tower'd Camelot; And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott." <br />
<br />
<br />There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott. <br />
<br />
<br />And moving through a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot; There the river eddy whirls, And there the surly village churls, And the red cloaks of market girls Pass onward from Shalott. <br />
<br />
<br />Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad Goes by to tower'd Camelot; And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two. She hath no loyal Knight and true, The Lady of Shalott. <br />
<br />
<br />But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often through the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, went to Camelot; Or when the Moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed. "I am half sick of shadows," said The Lady of Shalott. <br />
<br />
<br />A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.<br />The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armor rung Beside remote Shalott. <br />
<br />
<br />All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, burning bright, Moves over still Shalott. <br />
<br />
<br />His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror, "Tirra lirra," by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. <br />
<br />
<br />She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott. <br />
<br />
<br />In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining. Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And around about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott. <br />
<br />
<br />And down the river's dim expanse Like some bold seer in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance -- With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott.<br />Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right -- The leaves upon her falling light -- Thro' the noises of the night, She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott. <br />
<br />
<br />Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darkened wholly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott. <br />
<br />
<br />Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame, And around the prow they read her name, The Lady of Shalott.<br />Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear, All the Knights at Camelot; But Lancelot mused a little space He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott."The Poetry Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09744084259498229574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011920600390582987.post-52799042729702442712010-12-05T11:20:00.000-08:002010-12-05T11:20:52.800-08:00Love is not loveAs I am a great Jane Austen fan, I can not help but to enjoy this poem which is quoted in her novel "Sense and Sensibility". It is my hope, dear readers, that you are able to enjoy this work of literature as much as I have.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/sonn03.htm#116">Shakespeare's sonnets. The text 101 - 154.</a>:<br />"Let me not to the marriage of true minds<br />Admit impediments. Love is not love<br />Which alters when it alteration finds,<br />Or bends with the remover to remove:<br />O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,<br />That looks on tempests and is never shaken;<br />It is the star to every wandering bark,<br />Whose w<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">orth's</span> unknown, although his height be taken.<br />Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks<br />Within his bending sickle's compass come;<br />Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,<br />But bears it out even to the edge of doom.<br />If this be error and upon me proved,<br />I never writ, nor no man ever loved."The Poetry Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09744084259498229574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011920600390582987.post-61238052829660913152010-10-18T13:09:00.000-07:002010-10-18T13:15:08.552-07:00Sir Lancelot and Queen GuinevereLIKE souls that balance joy and pain,<br />With tears and smiles from heaven again<br />The maiden Spring upon the plain<br />Came in a sun-lit fall of rain.<br />In crystal vapour everywhere<br />Blue isles of heaven laugh'd between,<br />And far, in forest-deeps unseen,<br />The topmost elm-tree gather'd green<br />From draughts of balmy air.<br /><br />Sometimes the linnet piped his song:<br />Sometimes the throstle whistled <a class="FAAdLink" id="FALINK_3_0_2" href="http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sir-launcelot-and-queen-guinevere/#">strong</a>:<br />Sometimes the sparhawk, wheel'd along,<br />Hush'd all the groves from fear of wrong:<br />By grassy capes with fuller sound<br />In curves the yellowing river ran,<br />And drooping chestnut-buds began<br />To spread into the perfect fan,<br />Above the teeming ground.<br /><br />Then, in the boyhood of the year,<br />Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere<br />Rode thro' the coverts of the deer,<br />With blissful treble ringing clear.<br />She seem'd a part of joyous Spring:<br />A gown of grass-green silk she wore,<br />Buckled with golden clasps before;<br />A light-green tuft of plumes she bore<br />Closed in a golden ring.<br /><br />Now on some twisted ivy-net,<br />Now by some tinkling rivulet,<br />In mosses mixt with violet<br />Her cream-white mule his pastern set:<br />And fleeter now she skimm'd the plains<br />Than she whose elfin prancer springs<br />By night to eery warblings,<br />When all the glimmering moorland rings<br />With jingling bridle-reins.<br /><br />As she fled fast thro' sun and shade,<br />The happy winds upon her play'd,<br />Blowing the ringlet from the braid:<br />She look'd so lovely, as she sway'd<br />The rein with dainty finger-tips,<br />A man had given all other bliss,<br />And all his worldly worth for this,<br />To waste his whole heart in one kiss<br />Upon her perfect lips.<br /><br /><strong>by Lord Alfred Tennyson</strong>The Poetry Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09744084259498229574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011920600390582987.post-44936587125621246232010-08-23T20:07:00.000-07:002010-08-23T20:07:55.594-07:00The Road Not Taken - Poem by Robert Frost"The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost<br /><br />Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,<br />And sorry I could not travel both<br />And be one traveler, long I stood<br />And looked down one as far as I could<br />To where it bent in the undergrowth;<br />Then took the other, as just as fair,<br />And having perhaps the better claim,<br />Because it was grassy and wanted wear;<br />Though as for that the passing there<br />Had worn them really about the same,<br />And both that morning equally lay<br />In leaves no step had trodden black.<br />Oh, I kept the first for another day!<br />Yet knowing how way leads on to way,<br />I doubted if I should ever come back.<br />I shall be telling this with a sigh<br />Somewhere ages and ages hence:<br />Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-<br />I took the one less traveled by,<br />And that has made all the difference."The Poetry Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09744084259498229574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011920600390582987.post-63074560337419436242010-08-03T08:11:00.001-07:002010-08-03T08:26:09.604-07:00Shakespeare's Sonnets 1&2<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:180%;">1</span> Freom fairest creatures we desire increase,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">That therby beauty's rose might never die,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But as the riper should by time deseas,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">4 </span><span style="font-size:100%;">His tender heir might bear his memory;</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Making a famine where abundance lies,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">8 </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Thyself a foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Thou that art now the worlds fresh ornament</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And only herald to the haudy spring,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Withing thine own bud buriest thy content</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">12 </span><span style="font-size:100%;">And, Tender churl, Mak'st waste in niggarding.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Pity the world, on else this glutton be,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To eat the world's due by the grave and thee.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:180%;">2 </span><span style="font-size:100%;">When fort winters shall besiege thy brow</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">4 </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Will be a tottered weed of small worth held:</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Then being asked where all thy beauty lies,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Where all the treasure of the lusty days,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To say within thine own deep-sunken eyes</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">8 </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Where an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Has much more praise deserved thy beauty's use</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">If thou couldst answer, 'This fair child of mine</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Shall sum my count and make my old excuse',</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:78%;">12 </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Proving his beauty by succession thine.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This were to be new made when thou art old</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And see thy blood warm when thou feels cold.</span>The Poetry Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09744084259498229574noreply@blogger.com0