Tuesday, November 3, 2009

In the Weeping Brook

There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them.
There, on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up;
Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indu'd
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.


faerie finder said...

oh so pretty.. im loving the dreamy-ness
of your posts.. you must be in a lovely place
♥ xoxo ♥

The romantic query letter and the happy-ever-after said...

Pure perfection. I love your blog so much I can hardly stand it. Thank you so very much for sharing.
All the very best,

Cathy said...

So beautiful!
Such a lovely blog. Thanks for sharing.

Anonymous said...

my dear, this is absolutely besotting. this is an epic poem, and so devisive in imagery and metaphors. you are sugar sprinkles in the sky, lovely. I so enjoy your posts♥

Skills said...

A very magical poem but I do wish you would continue post part 2 of you tale. I feel as I am going bonkers with anticipation. :)

faerie finder said...

they are soooo soft!
they are like nylon or something?
not sure.. you know that impossibly
soft stuff they make baby toys out of?
its that! ♥

Anonymous said...

oh, this is just so beautiful dear, truely exquisite <3

Sarah Dee said...

whenever I hear/read this poem, I always fall immediately in love with the source. So, I love you. This is a wonderful blog, and I hope you have a magical day.