Annora's Ponderings

‘The Lady of Shalott’ by William Holman Hunt

Tue, 13 Nov 2012 22:20:25 +0000

‘The Lady of Shalott’ by William Holman Hunt

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, Alone and palely...

Tue, 13 Nov 2012 21:52:59 +0000

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.

I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads
Full beautiful, a faery’s child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery’s song.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look’d at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
I love thee true.

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gaz’d and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes—
So kiss’d to sleep.

And there we slumber’d on the moss,
And there I dream’d, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dream’d
On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cry’d—“La belle Dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall!”

I saw their starv’d lips in the gloam
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill side.

And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.

- John Keats, ‘La Belle Dame sans Merci’

(Image: ‘La Belle Dame sans Merci’ by Frank Bernard Dicksee)

Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced, Holds his dear Psyche...

Mon, 02 Apr 2012 21:48:00 +0100

Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced,

Holds his dear Psyche sweet entranced,

After her wandering labours long,

Till free consent the gods among

Make her his eternal bride;

And from her fair unspotted side

Two blissful twins are to be born,

Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn.

- John Milton, Comus (excerpt)

(Image: ‘The Abduction of Psyche’ by William-Adolphe Bouguereau)

When Sir Launcelot was brought to her, then she said to all the...

Mon, 02 Apr 2012 20:58:55 +0100

When Sir Launcelot was brought to her, then she said to all the ladies: Through this man and me hath all this war been wrought, and the death of the most noblest knights of the world; for through our love that we have loved together is my most noble lord slain; Therefore, Sir Launcelot, wit thou well I am set in such a plight to get my soul-heal; and yet I trust through God’s grace that after my death to have a sight of the blessed face of Christ, and at domesday to sit on his right side, for as sinful as ever I was are saints in heaven; Therefore, Sir Launcelot, I require thee and beseech thee heartily, for all the love that ever was betwixt us, that thou never see me more in the visage; and I command thee, on God’s behalf, that thou forsake my company, and to thy kingdom thou turn again, and keep well thy realm from war and wrack; for as well as I have loved thee, mine heart will not serve me to see thee, for through thee and me is the flower of kings and knights destroyed..

- Sir Thomas Malory, Le Morte D’Arthur (Book XXI, Chapter IX)

(Image: ‘The End of the Quest’ by Frank Bernard Dicksee)

‘Romeo and Juliet’ by Frank Bernard Dicksee

Mon, 02 Apr 2012 20:38:04 +0100

‘Romeo and Juliet’ by Frank Bernard Dicksee

The Fly by William Blake

Mon, 02 Apr 2012 20:20:00 +0100

Little Fly,
Thy summer’s play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.

Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
And strength and breath
And the want
Of thought is death;

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.

What of the end, Pandora? Was it thine,The deed that set these...

Mon, 19 Dec 2011 20:31:00 +0000

What of the end, Pandora? Was it thine,
The deed that set these fiery pinions free?
Ah! wherefore did the Olympian consistory
In its own likeness make thee half divine?
Was it that Juno’s brow might stand a sign
For ever? and the mien of Pallas be
A deadly thing? and that all men might see
In Venus’ eyes the gaze of Proserpine?
What of the end? These beat their wings at will,
The ill-born things, the good things turned to ill,—
Powers of the impassioned hours prohibited.
Aye, clench the casket now! Whither they go
Thou mayst not dare to think: nor canst thou know
If Hope still pent there be alive or dead.

- Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Pandora

(Image: ‘Pandora’ by John William Waterhouse)

Sonnet XLIII - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Mon, 19 Dec 2011 20:19:00 +0000

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

‘Circe Invidiosa’ by John William Waterhouse

Thu, 15 Dec 2011 19:22:16 +0000

‘Circe Invidiosa’ by John William Waterhouse

‘The Colosseum’ - Lawrence Alma-Tadema

Fri, 18 Nov 2011 14:32:09 +0000

‘The Colosseum’ - Lawrence Alma-Tadema

There she weaves by night and dayA magic web with colours...

Thu, 10 Nov 2011 23:44:00 +0000

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 heat she,
The Lady of Shalott.

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;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

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.

- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, The Lady of Shalott (excerpt)

(Image: ‘I am half-sick of shadows, said the Lady of Shalott’ by John William Waterhouse)

And Merlin looked and half believed her true,So tender was her...

Mon, 31 Oct 2011 17:02:13 +0000

And Merlin looked and half believed her true,
So tender was her voice, so fair her face,
So sweetly gleamed her eyes behind her tears
Like sunlight on the plain behind a shower

- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, The Idylls of the King: Merlin and Vivien

(Image: ‘The Beguiling of Merlin’ by Edward Burne-Jones)

‘A Priestess’ by John William Godward

Sun, 30 Oct 2011 00:27:49 +0100

‘A Priestess’ by John William Godward

“I had hardly finished telling everything to the men...

Tue, 25 Oct 2011 16:22:00 +0100

“I had hardly finished telling everything to the men before we reached the island of the two Sirens, for the wind had been very favourable. Then all of a sudden it fell dead calm; there was not a breath of wind nor a ripple upon the water, so the men furled the sails and stowed them; then taking to their oars they whitened the water with the foam they raised in rowing. Meanwhile I look a large wheel of wax and cut it up small with my sword. Then I kneaded the wax in my strong hands till it became soft, which it soon did between the kneading and the rays of the sun-god son of Hyperion. Then I stopped the ears of all my men, and they bound me hands and feet to the mast as I stood upright on the crosspiece; but they went on rowing themselves. When we had got within earshot of the land, and the ship was going at a good rate, the Sirens saw that we were getting in shore and began with their singing.

“‘Come here,’ they sang, ‘renowned Ulysses, honour to the Achaean name, and listen to our two voices. No one ever sailed past us without staying to hear the enchanting sweetness of our song- and he who listens will go on his way not only charmed, but wiser, for we know all the ills that the gods laid upon the Argives and Trojans before Troy, and can tell you everything that is going to happen over the whole world.’

“They sang these words most musically, and as I longed to hear them further I made by frowning to my men that they should set me free; but they quickened their stroke, and Eurylochus and Perimedes bound me with still stronger bonds till we had got out of hearing of the Sirens’ voices. Then my men took the wax from their ears and unbound me.

- The Odyssey: Book XII (extract)

(Image: ‘Ulysses and the Sirens’ by Herbert James Draper)

‘Hope’ (1885) by George Frederick Watts

Wed, 19 Oct 2011 01:23:00 +0100

‘Hope’ (1885) by George Frederick Watts

They well-nigh now had pass’d the bounds of night, And...

Wed, 19 Oct 2011 01:18:00 +0100

They well-nigh now had pass’d the bounds of night,
And just approach’d the margin of the light,
When he, mistrusting lest her steps might stray,
And gladsome of the glympse of dawning day,
His longing eyes, impatient, backward cast
To catch a lover’s look, but look’d his last;
For, instant dying, she again descends,
While he to empty air his arms extends.

- Ovid, Metamorphoses X: ‘The Story of Orpheus and Eurydice’ (extract)

(Image: ‘Orpheus and Eurydice’ by George Frederick Watts)

Iseult of Brittany

Thu, 06 Oct 2011 14:56:57 +0100

So delicate my hands, and long,
They might have been my pride.
And there were those to make them song
Who for their touch had died.

Too frail to cup a heart within,
Too soft to hold the free-
How long these lovely hands have been
A bitterness to me!

- Dorothy Parker

I wonder, by my troth, what thou and IDid, till we loved; were...

Thu, 06 Oct 2011 14:41:42 +0100

I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved; were we not weaned till then,
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers’ den?
‘Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be.
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, ‘twas but a dream of thee.

And now good morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love, all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room, an everywhere.
Let sead discoveries to new worlds have gone,
Let maps to others, worlds on worlds have shown,
Let us possess our world; each hath one and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two better hemispheres,
Without sharp North, without declining West?
Whatever dies, was not mixed equally;
If our two loves be one; or thou and I
Love so alike that none do slacken, none can die.

- John Donne, Good Morrow

(Image: ‘Tristan and Isolde with the Potion’ by John William Waterhouse)

‘Stitching the Standard’ by Edmund Blair Leighton

Thu, 06 Oct 2011 14:34:57 +0100

‘Stitching the Standard’ by Edmund Blair Leighton

“When I have tried and failed, I shall have failed.”...

Mon, 19 Sep 2011 13:15:37 +0100

“When I have tried and failed, I shall have failed.” - Antigone (Sophocles’ Antigone)

(Image: ‘Antigone’ by Lord Frederick Leighton)