By J Ann Crowder

She hangs on my wall—a maiden of Shalott
To death she sailed away whilst wrapped in her web of weaving dreams
her hair, like spindled gold spun of daylight hues, glowing underneath a waning sun
She sings her mournful song with mournful eyes
Her touchless dalliances rest inside her heart
Silently she prays her memory will never die—carving her ghost into history
Her broken heart dissolves into her tears falling as diamonds into iridescences below
Her song whimpers as daylight tolls into faraway distances
Her blood slowly chills
Yet, there remains a little flushed pink upon her cheek—forever abiding there
Her dreams live upon each carefully woven, gossamer strand living within her blanketed tapestry
They haunt us with their beauty
Oh, such tragedy we cry!
Her passion bowing by her side
With a kiss from his lips—he least understood
Such beauty lost was she
A nameless maiden of Shalott
Now, long after her death, such lasting chasms resonate her loneliness amid her stone, iced walls towering
Each dawn and dusk, flaxen doves fly over her tomb
Withal, her voice upon changing winds and seasons, lilts
Her reflection can be seen upon stilling tides of water pools in spring
Alas, her fragrance yet rises upon the efflorescence of summer roses imbuing us by her redolent scent still alive

Lord Tennyson is among my favorites and his famous poem "The Lady of Shalott" is beautiful! One of the most beautiful tragedies ever written. I have the Waterhouse painting hanging in my bedroom. This poem was inspired by it. Written April 23rd, 2016.

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Makayla Taylor
almost 5 years

This is so interesting and beautifully crafted.

Robert L. Martin
almost 5 years

I think that is beautiful and passionate.

almost 5 years

I've read that poem. And you did it justice... Great job

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Cory Garcia Francis Vic Robert L. Martin

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