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Ceinwyn
Member Elite

since 2000-07-09

Posts 2175
VA

0 posted 2005-07-30 05:32 PM

Stuck within
Love's eternal slumber
Now dreaming
Death's final number
The remains of
my beating heart
Shall always belong
To the fair Sir Lancelot
Yet I curse
the very day
I Set eyes upon
He who captured
my very essence
my very dreams
my very last breath
Shall he love me now
As I haunt
The shores of Camelot
and his waking dreams and nightmares
forevermore
For I am
And always shall be
The Lady of Shalott...

If at first you don't succeed destroy all the evidence that you tried.

Sunshine

Administrator

Member Empyrean

since 1999-06-25

Posts 63354
Listening to every heart

1 posted 2005-07-30 05:52 PM

This...

is a

!

"There's a reason they call God The Creator - he sides with talent." Julia Cameron

nakdthoughts
Member Laureate

since 2000-10-29

Posts 19200
Between the Lines

2 posted 2005-07-30 07:24 PM

beautiful...picture and words

M

Magnus

Member Laureate

since 2001-10-10

Posts 14135
South Carolina, USA

3 posted 2005-07-30 07:25 PM

From Tennyson..

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 Shallot.

Your poem does great justice to the above
excerpt from Tennyson's poem.

ice
Member Elite

since 2003-05-17

Posts 3404
Pennsylvania

4 posted 2005-07-30 11:23 PM

C
Beautiful poem and picture...

I am fascinated by the legend of the Lady, I believe the painting you posted is by John Waterhouse, but not sure...

Upstream from Camelot,
The mirrored world she sees-
She weaves into tapestries.
Peasents hear her song
But never see,
The Lady Of Shalott.

Images pass her window, she peeks
Knowing that it's forbidden
And the looking glass shatters,
Releasing the power of the curse...

Autumn winds rise, and on currents
She drifts on a river of dreams
Sailing on towards Camelot,
'til at last in the arms of Lancelot;
A final embrace, one of two is dead.

My humble poem about the Lady- certainly not as good as yours or Tennysons...maybe I'll finish it now- you have inspired me...

enjoyed
----------ice
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[This message has been edited by ice (07-31-2005 07:17 AM).]

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