Wednesday, March 3, 2010

With blackest moss the flower-pots were thickly crusted, one and all:

The rusted nails fell from the knots
That held the pear to the gable-wall.
That held the pear to the gable-wall.
The broken sheds look'd sad and strange:
Unlifted was the clinking latch:
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch
Upon the lonely moated grange.
She only said, 'My life is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said:
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;
Either at morn or eventide.
After the flitting of the bats,
When thickest dark did trance the sky,
She drew her casement-curtain by,
And glanced athwart the glooming flats.
She only said, 'The night is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'
Upon the middle of the night,
Waking she heard the night-fowl crow:
The cock sung out an hour ere light:
From the dark fen the oxen's low
Came to her; without hope of change,
In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn,
Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn
About the lonely moated grange.
She only said, 'The day is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!' About a stone-cast from the wall
A sluice with blacken'd waters slept,
And o'er it many, round and small,
The cluster'd marish-mosses crept.
Hard by a poplar shook alway,
All silver-green with gnarled bark:
For leagues no other tree did mark
The level waste, the rounding gray.
She only said, 'My life is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'
And ever when the moon was low,
And the shrill winds were up and away,
In the white curtain, to and fro,
She saw the gusty shadow sway.
But when the moon was very low,
And wild winds bound within their cell,
The shadow of the poplar fell
Upon her bed, across her brow.
She only said, 'The night is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'
All day within the dreamy house,
The doors upon their hinges creak'd;
The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse
Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd,
Or from the crevice peer'd about.
Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors,
Old footsteps trod the upper floors,
Old voices call'd her from without.
She only said, 'My life is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'
The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,
The slow clock ticking, and the sound
Which to the wooing wind aloof
The poplar made, did all confound
Her sense; but most she loathed the hour
When the thick-moted sunbeam lay
Athwart the chambers, and the day
Was sloping toward his western bower.
Then said she, 'I am very dreary,
He will not come,' she said;
She wept, 'I am aweary, aweary,
O God, that I were dead!'"
"Mariana" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

7 comments:

Kiki said...

Awesome...beautiful post..I love getting lost in magic! Thanks for creating such magic always!
Kiki~

icandy... said...

oh, love...forgive me...i have missed so much!!!
you have been busy posting and i haven't even stopped by lately! :( i'm very sorry!
i LOVE, love your alice stories and glenda the good witch is just beautiful...
i can see the thaw at the end of this winter tunnel...spring is alomst here!!!
lots of love and hugs to you~ i hope that you are well, sweets!!
oxox
cj

Such a Wondrous Place this Faery Space said...

Thanks Kiki! I appreciate your magic, as well! Blessings.

Such a Wondrous Place this Faery Space said...

Christina it is a rule with me that noone should ever feel guilty about not stopping every post. It is a rule I live by also it is because of this...
When I step into a land I want a cup of tea in hand. It is so much more than a favor to visit and to comment for it is your place I want to savor. So, if I cannot reach every friend at every post it means not that I value others most. I want to be present when I visit a blog for all these friendships are gifts. I bet that is what you feel, as well. I would rather spend time catching up with reverence and glee than to go on a comment spree. hee hee.
Now off I go great gal you are such a delight. Blessings.

Beth Niquette said...

I wonder what the author would say, were she alive--to see this amazing movie?

To see her thoughts in action? It would have been such a grand thing.

Such a Wondrous Place this Faery Space said...

Hi dear Beth!Charles Dodgson or C.S. Lewis probably would have been amazed to have his stories put so vividly in visual. I think I would love to talk candidly to Alice Pleasance Liddell Hargreaves about the concept of trying out all the roles we play or those roles that are put on us, until we settle into what we feel represents us and how we want to live out this life. Would she feel her story altered in a positive or negative way from his telling of the stories. Would she see that it most likely created both? I don't know. Great questions Beth. Thanks. Blessings.

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