The Lady of Shalott


On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run 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.
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.

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?

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
The Lady of Shalott."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."


Alfred Lord Tennyson

http://www.wl.k12.in.us/english/images/waterhouse19.jpg

now that's more at my level Rob !:joker:

Have to admit to loving the 'Lady' and that beautiful picture is one of my favourites . Thanks for both.

Naming of Parts
Henry Reed (b. 1914)

Today we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And to-morrow morning,
We shall have that to do after firing. But today,
Today we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,
And today we have naming of parts.

This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the garden their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.

This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.

And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you can see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
They call it easing the Spring.

They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For today we have naming of parts.

Oh Sticks thanks, I'd forgotten that wonderful poem. One of the very, very few poems to come out of the Second World War and isn't it a cracker? On a beautiful day like today and in the times in which we live it is spot on.

Cheers, old fruit. It's made me all nostalgic for my university days, and made me appreciate TiBB all over again (after the grumpiness of my last post, see Malachi thread).

Thanks Sticks. I have never read that poem before. It is quite stunning.

Stevie Smith - Not Waving But Drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

Absolutely brilliant, Sticks. I've never come across that one before.

And, ROB. Another stunner. Many thanks to all contributors on this thread. I'm thoroughly enjoying the variety of poems that have been posted up.

:wavey:

The Donkey
G. K. Chesterton

When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood,
Then surely I was born.

With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody
On all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms about my feet!

http://heatheranne.freeservers.com/famous/animal1.gif

That made me think of a little ladybird book I once had about Neddy the donkey, aaaah, thanks Mairi!

Which made me think about the Anthology 'When we were very young' by A A Milne

Here's one of the poems from that:
Alan Alexander Milne 1882-1956
( A. A. Milne)

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
Alice is marrying one of the guard.
"A soldier's life is terrible hard,"
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
We saw a guard in a sentry-box.
"One of the sergeants looks after their socks,"
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
We looked for the King, but he never came.
"Well, God take care of him, all the same,"
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
They've great big parties inside the grounds.
"I wouldn't be King for a hundred pounds,"
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
A face looked out, but it wasn't the King's.
"He's much too busy a-signing things,"
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
"Do you think the King knows all about me?"
"Sure to, dear, but it's time for tea,"
Says Alice


http://www.penguinputnam.com/static/...hristopher.jpg

I thought I'd lower the tone right down with what is probably Philip Larkin's most well-known poem. I definitely don't agree with the gloomy old s**'s sentiments in the last verse, but it is still the one I quote from quite often (I've censored it slightly, of course).

This Be the Verse by Philip Larkin

They ******* you up, your mum and dad,
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were ********* up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can
And don't have any kids yourself.

Sorry it\'s late!
 

I will type this out - but my book is at school so please wait another week!!!!!!:shocked::shocked::shocked::shocked::sle ep::sleep:

Look forward to it, Blinkin. :wavey:

This is the first poem I can remember learning as a small child.

Cats
Eleanor Farjeon

Cats sleep
Anywhere,
Any table,
Any chair,
Top of piano,
Window ledge,
In the middle,
On the edge,
Open drawer,
Empty shoe,
Anybody's
Lap will do,
Fitted in a
Cardboard box,
In the cupboard
With your frocks -
Anywhere!
They don't care!
Cats sleep
Anywhere.

http://www.uselessgraphics.com/450cat.gif

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek and o'er the brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.

George Gordon - Lord Byron (local lad)


http://www.artofeurope.com/byron/byronalb.jpg

I know its not a professional one, but my son reminded me of this effort I did for his 21st birthday. Hope you like it.


Sons like you don't grow on trees
No fresh veg, just tinned green peas
But sons like you are just the best
Head and shoulders above the rest
Over the years you drove us mad
But those childhood times were never bad
Snotty noses and dirty nappies
Have changed to smelly boots and football sockies
From broken ankles to glandular fever
When you're well we all shout Viva!
21 years have just flown by
But you've turned out to be quite a guy
So to finish this poem I'd like to say
What DO you want for your Birthday?

Aww, that's lovely, BusyBee.

Men are so hard to buy for, aren't they? Did you ever find out what he DID want for his birthday?

:laugh::laugh::laugh:

From a living poet

I wish I looked After my teeth
Pam Ayres
Oh, I wish I'd looked after me teeth,
And spotted the perils beneath,
All the toffees I chewed,
And the sweet sticky food,
Oh, I wish I'd looked after me teeth.

I wish I'd been that much more willin'
When I had more tooth there than fillin'
To pass up gobstoppers,
From respect to me choppers
And to buy something else with me shillin'.

When I think of the lollies I licked,
And the liquorice allsorts I picked,
Sherbet dabs, big and little,
All that hard peanut brittle,
My conscience gets horribly pricked.

My Mother, she told me no end,
"If you got a tooth, you got a friend"
I was young then, and careless,
My toothbrush was hairless,
I never had much time to spend.

Oh I showed them the toothpaste all right,
I flashed it about late at night,
But up-and-down brushin'
And pokin' and fussin'
Didn't seem worth the time... I could bite!

If I'd known I was paving the way,
To cavities, caps and decay,
The murder of fiIlin's
Injections and drillin's
I'd have thrown all me sherbet away.

So I lay in the old dentist's chair,
And I gaze up his nose in despair,
And his drill it do whine,
In these molars of mine,
"Two amalgum," he'll say, "for in there."

How I laughed at my Mother's false teeth,
As they foamed in the waters beneath,
But now comes the reckonin'
It's me they are beckonin'
Oh, I wish I'd looked after me teeth.

I have a slight dental problem myself :bawling:

Splodge you have evidently transgressed some internet regs there old chum!

I feel today is important enough to require me to do a little composition.....


Ode to Paul Clarke

How well I still recall the day
I saw you first and paused to say:
'He doesn't look that lush to me
There's nothing special there to see.'

Then I watched for just a little while
And saw that every time you smile
There's a kindness that you can't disguise,
In those warm and gentle big brown eyes.

Although I really hate to moan
Your voice is rather monotone
But as I watched you more and more
I overlooked this little flaw.

I watched your strength when things were bad
I saw you looking very sad
You didn't whinge, you didn't moan
You quietly took it on your own

The weeks went by, and slow and sure
We saw saw you falling more and more
In love with someone with whom you
Could do whate'er you wanted to

But you were Honourable until the end
You stayed a gentleman and friend.
And when you had to leave her there
I cried for you - they didn't care!

Still they said you were not true
They really had it in for you!
I cried for Helen too, and she
Was pining there for all to see

At last came Friday, we would see
If you and her were meant to be
And as she saw you through the dark
She shouted: 'Oh My God, Paul Clarke!'

I hoped in time we'd see you more,
That you would be more to the fore
But in your wisdom you could see
That you didn't want celebrity

I miss you Paul, but hope that you
Will get all you deserve to do
You're living out a normal life
So don't you think you need a wife?

I know my love is all in vain
And that my loss is Helen's gain
So please do what you have to do
And ask that girl to marry you!

I love that ROB!!!:I do hope he listens to your message!
love::love::love:


Here is one for Sticks:
An Aura Of Gloom

An aura of inpending doom
envelopes all the earth.
The mood is black and rife with gloom,
no sign of joy or mirth.

While man, distrustful in his heart-
holds hatred toward his brother.
And terror rules as men obsessed
with death kill one another.

A lonesomme child sobs quietly-
From friends she's set apart.
Obliviuos to all time and place,
she finds peace in her heart.

She does not feel that sense of doom
or dreadful boding fear.
She gently holds an injured cat-
All life to her is dear.

This child can feel the love of god
which she tries to impart
to others with the rays of love
from sunshine in her heart.

Why cannot men,just like this child
be bound by love,not hate,
and not let gloom control their lives,
but leave to god their fate.





:spin2::spin2::spin2:

Oh ROB how well you have expressed my feelings, for one about the birthday boy. I couldnt have done better myself.:joker::joker:

Oh how I am with you about the need to take him a wife. Perhaps we should send him a book on wedding etiquette for his birthday.:devil::devil:

Further to your kind enquiry Mairi son had a day driving a four wheeled vehicle off road at Castle Coombe Racing Track.

Had a whale of a time.:elephant::elephant::elephant::elephant:

Having been rightfully admonished by ROB for my tardiness in sending Paul birthday greetings, I discovered this just now that I wrote about a year ago. Hope you like it. I know its on the same line as ROB, but its my outlook on the happy situation that has arisen.


Ode to BB2

In the summer of 2001 we all were hooked
By day and night at our TVs we looked
What was the show that caught our eye
It was BB2 we all will sigh

The housemates were a great bunch we knew
We watched their antics through and through
Brian’s comedy, plus Dean’s guitar
Elizabeth’s cooking, they’ll all go far

But the pair that we all loved the best
For us they stood out from the rest
Can you guess just who I mean
The two that made us oh so keen
To watch that tv throughout the night
Til morning broke and it got light
Yes, you’re right is H and Paul
Those two together, they sure had a ball

Their antics made for headline news
The way they were treated brought loads of boos
We argued, we discussed, could it be true
That love was growing between those two
Us true supporters would never waiver
Leave them alone, do them a favour
Just give them a chance to prove us right
Helen and Paul together both day and night

When Paul was evicted he missed his Hel
Couldn’t wait for Friday he did yell
In the house Helen was missing her Paul
Oh I hope he’s alright she often did call
But cupid’s arrow had truly struck
Those two just couldn’t believe their luck
To go into a house and meet your mate
All they could say was it’s got to be fate

Let’s hope in the future all goes well
And before too long there’s a wedding bell
They’re part of the family we all hold dear
We’ll always be interested that much is clear
We’re not nosey, just want to make sure
That all’s going well and their love is pure
So we wish them luck their whole life through
And their love remains both strong and true

:love::love::love::love::love::love:

Brilliant pressie, BusyBee. I'm sure he DID have a whale of a time.

ROB, you're an absolute wonder. Your poem for Paul is beautiful. I hope you won't mind me adding it to my collection.

And Rachb, I loved your poem and I hope Sticks takes note!! Who was it who said "What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?"

:wavey:

Listening to the Fame students and I had to add this............

On Pleasure

Then a hermit, who visited the city once a year, came forth and said, "Speak to us of Pleasure."

And he answered, saying:

Pleasure is a freedom song,

But it is not freedom.

It is the blossoming of your desires,

But it is not their fruit.

It is a depth calling unto a height,

But it is not the deep nor the high.

It is the caged taking wing,

But it is not space encompassed.

Ay, in very truth, pleasure is a freedom-song.

And I fain would have you sing it with fullness of heart; yet I would not have you lose your hearts in the singing.

Some of your youth seek pleasure as if it were all, and they are judged and rebuked.

I would not judge nor rebuke them. I would have them seek.

For they shall find pleasure, but not her alone:

Seven are her sisters, and the least of them is more beautiful than pleasure.

Have you not heard of the man who was digging in the earth for roots and found a treasure?

And some of your elders remember pleasures with regret like wrongs committed in drunkenness.

But regret is the beclouding of the mind and not its chastisement.

They should remember their pleasures with gratitude, as they would the harvest of a summer.

Yet if it comforts them to regret, let them be comforted.

And there are among you those who are neither young to seek nor old to remember;

And in their fear of seeking and remembering they shun all pleasures, lest they neglect the spirit or offend against it.

But even in their foregoing is their pleasure.

And thus they too find a treasure though they dig for roots with quivering hands.

But tell me, who is he that can offend the spirit?

Shall the nightingale offend the stillness of the night, or the firefly the stars?

And shall your flame or your smoke burden the wind?

Think you the spirit is a still pool which you can trouble with a staff?

Oftentimes in denying yourself pleasure you do but store the desire in the recesses of your being.

Who knows but that which seems omitted today, waits for tomorrow?

Even your body knows its heritage and its rightful need and will not be deceived.

And your body is the harp of your soul,

And it is yours to bring forth sweet music from it or confused sounds.

And now you ask in your heart, "How shall we distinguish that which is good in pleasure from that which is not good?"

Go to your fields and your gardens, and you shall learn that it is the pleasure of the bee to gather honey of the flower,

But it is also the pleasure of the flower to yield its honey to the bee.

For to the bee a flower is a fountain of life,

And to the flower a bee is a messenger of love,

And to both, bee and flower, the giving and the receiving of pleasure is a need and an ecstasy.

People of Orphalese, be in your pleasures like the flowers and the bees.

"The PROPHET"
Kahlil Gibran



:colour:

There was a young lady from Spa,

Picked up for a ride in a car,

But the driver was MAD,

He turned out to be DAD,

And took her straight home toher MA !!!

:shocked::hugesmile::shocked::hugesmile::shocked:: hugesmile:

Some people have no culture !:nono: