It's that time again friends! This week the thing I love is...
Alfred Lord Tennyson
That's right a poet. I'm an English major, you knew it was coming. He may not be physically beautiful, but he's brilliant, and his poem"The Lady of
Shalott" is one of the most captivating and beautiful works I've ever read. If you don't read this, you're only doing yourself an injustice.
The Lady of ShalottOn either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And
thro' the
fields the road runs by
To many-towered Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of
Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle
imbowersThe Lady of
Shalott.
By the margin, willow
veil'ed,
Slide the heavy barges
trail'dBy slow horses; and
unhail'dThe
shallop flitteth silken-
sail'dSkimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of
Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes
cheerlyFrom the river winding clearly;
Down to
tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, "
Tis the fairy
Lady of
Shalott."
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she
weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of
Shalott.
And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from
Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-
hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to
tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of
Shalott.
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.
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
greavesOf bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever
kneel'dTo a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote
Shalott.
The
gemmy bridle
glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle-bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his
blazon'd baldric slung
Amighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote
Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-
jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to
Camelot.
As often
thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still
Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight
glow'd:
On
burnish'd hooves his war-horse
trode;
From underneath his helmet
flow'dHis coal black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"
Tirra lirra" by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She
look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror
crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is upon me," cried
The Lady of
Shalott.
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in
his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over
tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of
Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance—
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of
Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white
That
loosely flew to left and right—
The leaves upon her falling light—
Thro' the noises
of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
the willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
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.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into
Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of
Shalott.
Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died in the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of
Shalott."
Wondering how you ever lived without it? You should be. It's so good! Plus, Look how it's inspired so many other artists to do beautiful things.
I really want to write like this. Also, I want to do a "Lady of
Shalott" inspired photo shoot. Oh Tennyson, I love you.
(most sincere apologies to the other 2 band members who aren't pictured)
photo here 
Here in Jenna Land, we are all about trying new things. In honor of this tradition I will now be having "One Thing I Love Thursday" (hence the clever title). This Thursday I choose Zooey Deschanel. 
'It is but a few hours, sir,' Clenham cheerfully urged upon him.
I wish Tim Burton was my friend. Alice was so good. 
I never get tired of these on my nails.
One day I might make my bridesmaids wear this ^
or that ^ either of which will keep me laughing for years.
