"
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.
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.
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.
"
1:50 am • 29 November 2009
"That is true: to escape is the greatest of pleasures; street haunting in the winter the greatest of adventures."
— Virginia Woolf from Street Haunting (via gabsgabs)
9:21 pm • 28 November 2009
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
thousandflowerettes:
neverneverland:wolfgang amadeus mozart, lacrimosa (requiem mass in D minor K.626) (u:i)
6:37 pm • 28 November 2009
here the library smelled of bergamot and dried roses. if we had any memories of the outside world, they were lost as we tred the floorboards before the fireplace. pacing and pacing, fingers on lips, you will tell me of your new work (so similiar to the old one), and the sorry state of your old heart. dirt on our palms, ink between our fingers, sleep in our eyes, we will create new philosophies. perhaps she will play the sour piano for us tonight, the keys still sticky from the night before. the ghosts, too, remember the song, and will hum in their own strange tongue.
i would return if i could ever find my way, but it is all so distant.
5:37 pm • 28 November 2009
