The most important hint that his poem was speaking in poetic language is the reference to the lily—the lily on thy brow
and then the rose
the lily indicates the knight is still a young man —but fast wither….means dying untimely in youth
the rose indicates in the language of poetry, the heart and love or in this case, a broken heart
Of course ~Wordsworth —as his name would suggest, requires an entire code book
It all really began for me with this one poem—this whole secret language that evoked a doorway to a realm that I forever was a citizen of
This one poem by Keats in my tenth grade English Literature class as I was desperately searching for meaning those words pulled me under his spell
But then there was this …. which is my favorite painting Waterhouse’s style is often grouped with PreRaphaelite~his style and principles would be of the genre but he was not in the ‘Brotherhood’
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lilly on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads
Full beautiful, a faery's child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery's song.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
I love thee true.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gazed and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes—
So kissed to sleep.
And there we slumbered on the moss,
And there I dreamed, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dreamed
On the cold hill side.
I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cried—"La belle Dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
I saw their starved lips in the gloam
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill side.
And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
that it should have taken so long to find my way back to ….me which only comes when I can lose myself in who I really am; an artist ….i do my best thinking when I paint
it is a peace that is mine and only mine and where I belong utterly; the world is irrelevant to me
you can be lonely in a crowded room. I have been. Often. you can be lonely sitting next to your own family or husband
I’m never lonely when I paint ….
it isn’t that I do not wish for company; not invasion, which seems an oxymoron
I think the key is …. just an ability to
know how not to trip a wire —if the entry door seems shut but to know the elven word for friend also helps to anyone who wouldn’t trespass.
to have a Room of One’s Own— like Virginia said ….the “room” for me is more like —having—room …. to be me ….there in that concept of “room” all restrictions go
that is the place and moment that I Create in—it is a completely separate world and I love being there —but it is a luxury (violent husband; escaping stalkers, exes etc) —clearly, as it’s taken till now to achieve it ….why would I invite disaster now?
