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
over 3 years

This is so interesting and beautifully crafted.

Robert L. Martin
over 3 years

I think that is beautiful and passionate.

Vic
over 3 years

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

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