Another literary thing I love is poetry. I'm not a big fan of modern poetry that is all blank verse and weirdness but if you go back in history to find poetry from the Romantic and Victorian eras, to me there is nothing quite like it. As a musician I love the music of poetry how it can flow so naturally with a beautiful sense of pulse. Here below is a poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon, a fairly scandalous poetess from Victorian times. I like how this poem reminds me of poems like 'The Lady of Shalott' but this one has a twist and a bit of a jibe at the melodramatic view of undying love and beauty.
Poetry is best enjoyed when read aloud so I dare you to do it! You know you want to. Even if you normally hate poetry or are right now sitting in a highly populated area, just sprout forth. It's good to have people think you are insane every once in a while!
The Proud Ladye
Oh, what could the ladye’s beauty match,
If it were not the ladye’s pride?
An
hundred knights from far and near
Woo’d at that ladye’s side.
The
rose of the summer slept on her cheek,
It’s lily upon her breast,
And
her eye shone forth like the glorious star
That rises the first in the west.
There were some
that woo’d for her land and gold,
And some for her noble name,
And more that
woo’d for her loveliness;
But her answer was still the same.
“There is a steep
and lofty wall,
Where my warders trembling stand;
He who at speed shall
ride round its height,
For him shall be my hand.”
Many turn’d away
from the deed,
The hope of their wooing o’er;
But many a young
knight mounted the steed
He never mounted more.
At last there came
a youthful knight,
From a strange and far countrie,
The steed that he
rode was white as the foam
Upon a stormy sea.
And she who had scorn’d the name of love,
Now bow’d before
its might,
And the ladye grew
meek as if disdain
Were not made for that stranger knight.
She sought at
first to steal his soul
By dance, song, and festival;
At length on
bended knee she pray’d
He would not ride the wall.
But gaily the
young knight laugh’d at her fears,
And flung him on his steed,—
There was not a
saint in the calendar
That
she pray’d not to in her need.
She dar’d not
raise her eyes to see
If heaven had granted her prayer,
Till she heard a
light step bound to her side,—
The gallant knight stood there!
And took the ladye
Adeline
From her hair a jewell’d band,
Bu the knight
repell’d the offer’d gift,
And turn’d from the offer’d hand.
“And deemest thou
that I dared this deed,
Ladye, for love of thee?
The honour that
guides the soldier’s lance
Is mistress enough for me.
“Enough for me to
ride the ring,
The victor’s crown to wear;
But not in honour
of the eyes
Of any ladye
there.
“I had a brother
whom I lost
Through thy proud crueltie,
And far more was
to me his love,
Than woman’s love can be.
“I came to triumph
o’er the pride
Through which that brother fell,
I laugh to scorn
thy love and thee,
And now, proud dame, farewell!”
And from that hour
the ladye pined,
For love was in her heart,
And on her slumber
there came dreams
She could not bid depart.
Her eye lost all
its starry light,
Her cheek grew wan and pale,
Till
she hid her faded loveliness
Beneath the sacred veil.
And she cut off
her long dark hair,
And bade the world farewell,
And she now dwells
a veiled nun
In Saint Marie’s
cell.
1825
