Happy Holidays!

A Cradle Song - William Blake

Sweet dreams, form a shade,
O'er my lovely infant's head;
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams.

Sweet sleep, with soft down.
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet sleep, Angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child.

Sweet smiles, in the night,
Hover over my delight;
Sweet smiles, mother's smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.

Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes.
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.

Sleep, sleep, happy child,
All creation slept and smil'd;
Sleep sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee thy mother weep.

Sweet babe in thy face,
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe once like thee,
Thy maker lay and wept for me,

Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When he was an infant small.
Thou his image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee,

Smiles on thee, on me, on all;
Who became an infant small.
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.



William Blake's words seem especially apropos for me this holiday season. My daughter is over a year old now, and I feel very lucky to be able to observe her divine little smiles!

The past few weeks have flown by at such a crazy pace that it's hard to believe that Christmas is almost here. I am looking forward to taking the next few days to enjoy celebrating the holidays with my family. I hope everyone is enjoying this festive season of the year. Best wishes to all!

Image: The Adoration of the Shepherds by Bartolome Esteban Murillo, 1650

Rare Millais Sketches Found in Led Zeppelin Record Sleeves

Former Led Zeppelin guitarist Jimmy Page is one of the world's best known collectors of Pre-Raphaelite art. But he nearly lost a handsome stash of sketches by John Everett Millais as the result of what appears to be an auction house mix-up. 

Apparently, four drawings by Millais were found tucked inside Led Zeppelin records that were due to be put up for auction. Interestingly, the records were actually owned by Rick Hobbs, who had worked for the band for a number of years. Originally, the auction house had believed that the sketches were a gift from Page to Hobbs, but the auction house was uncertain enough to withhold the items from the auction. 

Fortunately for art fans, the sketches have been well-preserved within the LP covers, and they are undamaged. Millais made the drawings in 1843 when he was just 14 years old and a student at the Royal Acadamy. Two of the sketches were inspired by the poetry of Robert Burns. One depicts a scene in Venice were a gondolier is singing to a lady from beneath a window, accompanied by a verse from Farewell Thou Stream "The music of thy voice I heard/Nor wist while it enslav'd me!/I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd/Til fears no more had sav'd me!"

Amazing that the sketches remained hidden in those LP covers all these years!

Tennyson and the Allure of the Medieval

Lord Alfred Tennyson composed some of the most famous lines in English poetry. Although he succeeded Wordsworth as Poet Laureate, his work has never gained the respect lavished on his predecessor, but his lonstanding popularity is unquestionable. I remember professors in University laughed at the idea of studying Tennyson. He was viewed as something of a literary joke, akin to Thomas Kinkade in the art world.

Tennyson's poetry had the ability of giving life to old narratives, particularly when it came to Arthurian literature. The Pre Raphaelites, who were drawn to this subject matter, often relied more heavily on Tennyson's interpretation of Medieval texts than they did on the original source material. This is particularly evident in "Mariana," "The Lady of Shallot," "Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere" and "Morte D'Arthur"--all of which were painted by Pre-Raphaelite artists.

Since I didn't post a copy of Tennyson's lovely poem, Mariana, the other day, I thought this would be an appropriate time to do so!

Mariana

WITH blackest moss the flower-plots
Were thickly crusted, one and all:
The rusted nails fell from the knots
That held the pear to the gable-wall.
The broken sheds look'd sad and strange: 5
Unlifted was the clinking latch;
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch
Upon the lonely moated grange.
She only said, 'My life is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said; 10
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'

Her tears fell with the dews at even;
Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;
She could not look on the sweet heaven, 15
Either at morn or eventide.
After the flitting of the bats,
When thickest dark did trance the sky,
She drew her casement-curtain by,
And glanced athwart the glooming flats. 20
She only said, 'The night is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'

Upon the middle of the night, 25
Waking she heard the night-fowl crow:
The cock sung out an hour ere light:
From the dark fen the oxen's low
Came to her: without hope of change,
In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn, 30
Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn
About the lonely moated grange.
She only said, 'The day is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary, 35
I would that I were dead!'

About a stone-cast from the wall
A sluice with blacken'd waters slept,
And o'er it many, round and small,
The cluster'd marish-mosses crept. 40
Hard by a poplar shook alway,
All silver-green with gnarlèd bark:
For leagues no other tree did mark
The level waste, the rounding gray.
She only said, 'My life is dreary, 45
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'

And ever when the moon was low,
And the shrill winds were up and away, 50
In the white curtain, to and fro,
She saw the gusty shadow sway.
But when the moon was very low,
And wild winds bound within their cell,
The shadow of the poplar fell 55
Upon her bed, across her brow.
She only said, 'The night is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!' 60

All day within the dreamy house,
The doors upon their hinges creak'd;
The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse
Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd,
Or from the crevice peer'd about. 65
Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors,
Old footsteps trod the upper floors,
Old voices call'd her from without.
She only said, 'My life is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said; 70
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,'
I would that I were dead!'

The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,
The slow clock ticking, and the sound
Which to the wooing wind aloof 75
The poplar made, did all confound
Her sense; but most she loathed the hour
When the thick-moted sunbeam lay
Athwart the chambers, and the day
Was sloping toward his western bower. 80
Then, said she, 'I am very dreary,
He will not come,' she said;
She wept, 'I am aweary, aweary,
O God, that I were dead!'

Mariana, by Valentine Cameron Prinsep

Valentine Cameron Prinsep's 1888 painting of Mariana borrows much from Millais' version. Both paintings feature Mariana gazing out the window of her "moated grange." Prinseps' version is decidedly cheerier, and unlike Millais' autumnal painting featuring a backdrop of dying leaves, Prinseps' is set in spring, with tulips in abundance. The painting was originally exhibited in 1888 as part of a collection of twenty-one paintings entitled "Shakespeare's Heroines."

Valentine Cameron Prinsep is a lesser-known painter of the Pre-Raphaelite school, but his connections are fairly impressive! He was born in Calcutta, India in 1838, into a rather well-known family. His aunt was the pre-eminent photographer Julia Margaret Cameron, grandmother of Virginia Woolf (do you ever get the feeling that every person you read about is somehow related?). Valentine was good friends with Millais, Rossetti, and Burne-Jones, and his artwork definitely shows his friends' influence. During his life he wrote several books and plays, but he is best remembered for his artwork.


Source consulted: Shakespeare Online (The English Department at Emory University is responsible for this great resource--I highly recommend it!).

John Everett Millais' Mariana

For myself, one of the most enduring appeals of Pre-Raphaelite art is its strong relationship to romantic literature. Millais' 1851 work, Mariana, is a great example of this. The painting is based on a poem of the same title by Tennyson that in turn was inspired by Shakespeare's play, Measure for Measure. In Measure for Measure, the character Mariana is abandoned by her fiance, Angelo, when her dowry is lost in a shipwreck.

Millais' illustration of Mariana at the window reminds me of other stories, such as that of Penelope. Like Penelope, Mariana is engaged in needlework. Autumn leaves have blown in through the window and are scattered about the room--on the floor as well as on her needlework project, which the gallery description at the Tate suggests represents "the burden of her yearning as time passes." She is staring at a stained-glass image of the annunciation, which according to Tim Barringer was seen "as a quasi-sexual event" for both Millais and Rossetti in their paintings (42-43). There definitely is an undercurrent of frustration and longing in the painting.

Millais originally exhibited the painting along with several lines from Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem, Mariana:

She only said, 'My life is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'

Tomorrow: another Pre-Raphaelite vision of Mariana.

image courtesy Tate Gallery
Source consulted: Tim Barringer. The Pre-Raphaelites. London: Everyman Art Library, 1998

Rossetti's Venus Verticordia

Dante Gabriel Rossetti composed his Venus Verticordia between 1863 and 1868. At least four versions of the painting exist, done in various mediums (oil, watercolour, etc.), but this 82 x 69 cm oil on canvas is the most famous.

In his biography of Rossetti, Evelyn Waugh writes that the girl who modeled for the painting was "a young cook whom Rossetti picked up in the streets"(136). This is sort of true, but Rossetti used one of his favourite models, Alexa Wilding, for the final edition of the painting that you see here, having decided that the cook was a little too rough around the edges for this particular painting.

Most of Rossetti's friends disliked Venus Verticordia, and his patrons refused to buy it because Venus was partially nude. According to Waugh's biography, Mr. Valpy, one of Rossetti's buyers, had previously refused to buy a painting of a figure in a sleeveless gown, so you can imagine how they reacted to the bare-breasted Venus.

In his biography of the artist, Waugh complains that Rossetti was bad at painting nudes and that Venus' hair looks like an "ill fitting and inexpensive wig." Well, Waugh WOULD say that, but I like this painting anyway. It's true that Venus is not particularly lifelike, but the painting is still an arresting image that fits very well with the pagan/Christian syncretism that pervades Rossetti's work. This femme fatale clearly has her roots in both the pagan and Christian traditions. You will notice that the "Venus" in this painting evokes the biblical Eve. For example, it's hard to mistake that she's holding an apple, something he draws particular attention to in the first line of the poem he wrote for the painting--"She hath the apple in her hand for thee." It's also fairly obvious that Rossetti's Venus is toying with the viewer's vision through her rather suggestive grasp on the arrow--a pagan symbol of seduction (think Cupid).

What I love most about this painting is the flowers. They are gorgeous and very life-like. Waugh writes that Rossetti "spent enormous sums of money" on honeysuckles and roses. Eventually "he was obliged to institute a rigid curtailment of his household expenses to pay his florists' bills"(Waugh, 136). I think it was money well-spent. The honeysuckles are particularly life-like, don't you think? I also love the butterflies (or are they cabbage moths? I'm not completely sure) surrounding Venus' head. What an interesting touch.

As had become his custom, Rossetti composed a sonnet in iambic penatmeter to accompany the painting, which he had inscribed on the frame:

She hath the apple in her hand for thee,
Yet almost in her heart would hold it back;
She muses, with her eyes upon the track
Of that which in thy spirit they can see.
Haply, 'Behold, he is at peace,' saith she;
'Alas! the apple for his lips, - the dart
That follows its brief sweetness to his heart, -
The wandering of his feet perpetually.'

A little space her glance is still and coy;
But if she gets the fruit that works her spell,
Those eyes shall flame as for her Phrygian boy.
Then shall her bird's strained throat woe foretell,
And as far seas moan as a single shell,
And her grove glow with love-lit fires of Troy.

The BBC has an excellent interactive feature for exploring this painting on their website. Check it out!
Source consulted: Evelyn Waugh. Rossetti: His Life and Works. London: The Folcraft Press, 1969.

Rossetti Poem "Genius in Beauty"

While Dante Gabriel Rossetti is best known today for his contribution to Pre-Raphaelite art, in his own day he was celebrated for his poetry. In an interesting twist, his sister Christina Rossetti is now the better known poet in the family--something that would come as a bit of a surprise to both of them if they were alive today!

Dante Gabriel Rossetti's poetry was praised for its passion and drama and he was only 20 years old when his poem "The Blessed Damozel" won critical acclaim.

One of my favourite Rossetti poems is Genius in Beauty, which was published as part of his collection The House of Life in 1870. I suppose I'm comforted by the idea that some beauty cannot by marred by age! I think the poem refers to Jane--I have a hard time picturing Lizzie Siddal as having a "sovereign face" (my apologies, Lizzie lovers!).

Genius in Beauty

Beauty like hers is genius. Not the call
Of Homer's or of Dante's heart sublime, --
Not Michael's hand furrowing the zones of time, --
Is more with compassed mysteries musical;
Nay, not in Spring's Summer's sweet footfall
More gathered gifts exuberant Life bequeaths
Than doth this sovereign face, whose love-spell breathes
Even from its shadowed contour on the wall.

As many men are poets in their youth,
But for one sweet-strung soul the wires prolong
Even through all change the indomitable song;
So in likewise the envenomed years, whose tooth
Rends shallower grace with ruin void of truth,
Upon this beauty's power shall wreak no wrong.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Day Dream by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Dante Gabriel Rossetti painted this portrait of Jane Morris, entitled "Day Dream" in 1880. I would have to say that her grasp on the branch is quite provocative. I also love the detail of the leaves on the honeysuckle vine! The painting was accompanied by the following sonnet, which Rossetti inscribed on the frame:

The thronged boughs of the shadowy sycamore
Still bear young leaflets half the summer through;
From when the robin 'gainst the unhidden blue
Perched dark, till now, deep in the leafy core,
The embowered throstle's urgent wood-notes soar
Through summer silence. Still the leaves come new;
Yet never rosy-sheathed as those which drew
Their spiral tongues from spring-buds heretofore.
Within the branching shade of Reverie
Dreams even may spring till autumn; yet none be
Like woman's budding day-dream spirit-fann'd.
Lo! tow'rd deep skies, not deeper than her look,
She dreams; till now on her forgotten book
Drops the forgotten blossom from her hand.

Both the painting and poem were inspired by Tennyson's poem of the same name, The Daydream.

Image courtesy the Victorian and Albert Museum

La Belle Dame sans Merci

Of all John Keat's poems, La Belle Dame sans Merci had by far the most influence on the Pre-Raphaelites. The symbolism and sadness in the poem, combined with its femme fatale leading lady must have made it difficult for them to resist! It has inspired numerous paintings. The most popular versions are probably those by John William Waterhouse, Arthur Hughes, and also later versions by Frank Cadogan Cooper and Sir Francis Bernard Dicksee. Walter Crane and Henry Maynell Rheam also did works inspired by the poem.

The poem describes an encounter between a knight and a mysterious lady. The story opens with a description of the knight "palely loitering" among the hillsides. He has had the misfortune to encounter a lovely woman with wild eyes, whose managed to convince him that she desperately needed his help, when in fact, she was merely plotting to ensnare him. As the knight lies sleeping in her lair, he dreams of the other "pale kings and warriors" that had been lured to her resting place. They warn that "La Belle Dame sans Merci hath thee in thrall!" When he wakes, he's wandering in the countryside. The moral of the story? Don't talk to strangers! Especially when they are lovely damsels in distress!

John William Waterhouse was inspired by Keat's poem and unveiled this painting in 1893. He certainly captures how convincing the lady is--she doesn't look like she could harm a fly. The knight is completely drawn in.


Arthur Hughes' knight looks quite taken with the lady. He doesn't seem to notice the ghosts of other lost souls trying to warn him away!



Sir Frank Dicksee painted his rendition in 1903. This painting is quite popular these days! I seem to see it in every calendar featuring knights, ladies and the like. I do love the mystical femme fatale quality that Dicksee has captured. The knight is certainly transfixed.


Frank Cagadon Cowper's version (1926) of La Belle Dame is strikingly modern in comparison to the other paintings. Look at the lovely textile designs on her dress! Interestingly, his knight is perhaps the most historically accurate.



Finally, on a lighter note, here's a 1920 Punch cartoon featuring the knight and lady. She's clearly more interested in her reflection in the knights armour than she is in seducing him. Hmm.

John Keats

I picked up a lovely volume of John Keats poetical works the other day that I thought I'd share! (I wish it was a better photo). I instantly fell in love with the little art nouveau roses on the cover. It was printed in 1908 and while the binding has faded, the rest of it is in great shape! I just love beautiful old books and when I came across this one I had to have it.

In John Keats short life (1795-1821) he wrote some of the most beloved poems of the romantic movement. Keats died of Tuberculosis (as did his grandmother, mother and brother), but poets Percy Shelley and Lord George Gordon Byron blamed his death on the scathing criticisms of his work.

Keat's poetry is brimming with emotion, which is hardly surprising, since he was just a teenager when many of his most famous poems were written. His insight is staggering nonetheless (though a trifling juvenile). When I look at how much he accomplished in his short life, there are no words.

His poem, When I have fears that I may cease to be (1818), is one of my favourites. I love the way he expresses his fears that he may die never having experienced "high romance." You could cut through the emotion with a knife! Keats is so dramatic and so honest about his feelings--no wonder the Pre-Raphaelites loved him.

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charactry,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the fairy power
Of unreflecting love;—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

Both Dante Gabriel Rossetti and John Ruskin were huge fans of John Keat's poetry and helped contribute to a revival of his work in the latter part of the nineteenth century. Rossetti's favourite poems by Keats were "La Belle Dame sans Merci" "The Eve of Saint Agnes" and "Isabella." These poems were popular subjects for paintings by the Pre Raphaelites and their followers.


Of Keat's poems, La Belle Dame sans Merci had by far the most influence on the Pre-Raphaelite movement. Tomorrow I'll be doing a post on various artists' rendition of this work!

An Easter Carol by Christina Rossetti

Happy Easter, everyone! I ran across this lovely Easter poem by Christina Rossetti this morning. Christina Rossetti was of course Dante Gabriel Rossetti's sister and a celebrated poet. She also served as a model for brother's paintings and played a role in the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood's inner circle.

An Easter Carol by Christina Rossetti

Spring bursts to-day,
For Christ is risen and all the earth’s at play.

Flash forth, thou Sun,
The rain is over and gone, its work is done.

Winter is past,
Sweet Spring is come at last, is come at last.

Bud, Fig and Vine,
Bud, Olive, fat with fruit and oil and wine.

Break forth this morn
In roses, thou but yesterday a Thorn.

Uplift thy head,
O pure white Lily through the Winter dead.

Beside your dams
Leap and rejoice, you merry-making Lambs.

All Herds and Flocks
Rejoice, all Beasts of thickets and of rocks.

Sing, Creatures, sing,
Angels and Men and Birds and everything.

All notes of Doves
Fill all our world: this is the time of loves.

Sir Edward Burne Jones' Briar Rose/Sleeping Beauty Paintings

Sleeping Beauty is my all time favourite fairy tale. I was obsessed with the story the first time my parents read it to me and I adored the Disney film. My dad took me to see it in the theatre when I was six years old and for the next year I was obsessed with spinning wheels! We knew a lady that spun on a spinning wheel and touched the spindle to see if I would fall asleep! Oh my.

I also love Sir Edward Burne-Jones' paintings. They always have an element of the fantastic in them. I love art that tell a story and so many of his paintings and woodcuts do! This series, entitled "Briar Rose," is among my favourites. I think it also shows his artistic talent at its best and most mature.

Burne-Jones's had a longstanding intrest in the story of Sleeping Beauty (or Briar Rose). He first did a tile panel of the story in 1864. Later, in 180 he did a small series of oil paintings for William Graham. In 1890 (nearly thirty years after the first series) Burne-Jones created a large set of four oil paintings that told the story of Sleeping Beauty (Briar Rose). The series was purchased by Alexander Henderson, who later became the first Lord Faringdon, and installed in Buscot Park, Oxfordshire (where they still hang today). Burne-Jones's interest in the Sleeping Beauty story of the Briar Rose began as early as a tile panel in 1864. A small series of oil paintings for William Graham followed, and then a larger set of four oils, finally completed in 1890 before being bought by Alexander Henderson, later 1st Lord Faringdon, and installed in Buscot Park, Oxfordshire.

Burne-Jones' friend William Morris composed verses to accompany each of the paintings.

One thing that always bothers me about this series is that you never see Briar Rose wake up! Why do you think that is? You see the prince in the first picture, but the rest of the pictures focus on the sleeping kingdom. Perhaps he just wants to leave the final scene to our imaginations? Hmmm. Nevertheless, they are lovely, lovely paintings (you can click on the pictures to see them full size).

The Briar Wood
The fateful slumber floats and flows
About the tangle of the rose.
But lo the fated hand and heart
To rend the slumberous curse apart.

The Council Chamber
The threat of war, the hope of peace
The Kingdom's peril and increase.
Sleep on, and bide the latter day
When fate shall take her chains away.

The Garden Court
The maiden pleasance of the land
Knoweth no stir of voice or hand,
No cup the sleeping waters fill,
The restless shuttle lieth still.

The Rose Bower
Here lies the hoarded love the key
To all the treasure that shall be.
Come, fated hand, the gift to take
And smite the sleeping world awake.

Prologue to William Morris' The Earthly Paradise

I often write about William Morris' designs and prose works, but today I thought I'd include a small exctract from his most beloved poem (and this site's namesake), The Earthly Paradise.

Written between 1868 and 1870, The Earthly Paradise was Morris' most successful work. Originally published in four parts, today it is usually sold as one volume (my 1905 edition is 445 pages!). Luckilly, the poem is made up of twenty-four long narrative poems that are tied together in a framework similar to Chaucer's Canterbury Tales (you will recall that in the Canterbury Tales, the travelers entertain themselves by taking turns telling stories while on a pilgrimage, so it's actually quite easy to read.

In The Earthly Paradise, a group of "gentlemen and mariners of Norway," lured by the prospect of discoverying a mythic Earthly Paradise, have become stranded on an island in the middle of nowhere, where they discover the descendants of a group of Greeks who landed there long ago. Together, the islanders and Norse strangers gather each month for a year, and tell lovely stories from ancient sources--Greek and Norse. Thus, the poem is also divided by month (with two stories, one Norse, one Greek for each month of the year).

The poem is highly entertaining and very easy to read (there's some archaic language, but overall it's modern english).

What follows is a small extract from the prologue to The Earthly Paradise. In this section, Morris is asking his readers to seperate themselves from the reality of their modern lives and to try and imagine the world of Geoffrey Chaucer's time, in which his poem is set:

Forget six counties overhung with smoke,
Forget the snorting steam and piston stroke,
Forget the spreading of the hideous town;
Think rather of the pack-horse on the down,
And dream of London, small and white and clean,
The clear Thames bordered by its gardens green;
Think, that below bridge the green lapping waves
Smite some few keels that bear Levantine staves,
Cut from the yew wood on the burnt-up hill,
And pointed jars that Greek hands toiled to fill,
And treasured scanty spice from some far sea,
Florence gold cloth, and Ypres napery,
And cloth of Bruges, and hogsheads of Guienne;
While nigh the thronged wharf Geoffrey Chaucer’s pen
Moves over bills of lading—mid such times
Shall dwell the hollow puppets of my rhymes.

If you would like to read more, the text to The Earthly Paradise is available online at The Internet Sacred Texts Archive's website. Curling up with a good book is always more fun, even if it isn't free, so if you like what you've read, you can always get a lovely hardback version. Amazon doesn't seem to have anything under $400, but Alibris has affordable copies starting $6.68!

(image courtesy of www.morrissociety.org)

Poem on Grief

I ran across this poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson that has been really helpful to me (his poem "Threnody" is also a beautiful piece, written after the death of his son). Emerson was a founder of the transcendental movement and friends with Branson Alcott, father of writer Louisa May Alcott.

All Return Again
It is the secret of the world that all things subsist and do not die, but only retire a little from sight and afterwards return again. Nothing is dead; men feign themselves dead, and endure mock funerals and mournful obituaries, and there they stand looking out of the window, sound and well, in some new strange disguise. Jesus is not dead; he is very well alive; nor John, nor Paul, nor Mahomet, nor Aristotle; at times we believe we have seen them all, and could easily tell the names under which they go.
--Ralph Waldo Emerson

Kelmscott Chaucer

The term is drawing to a close and I've been marking exams in the library 24/7. This afternoon I took a bit of a break from marking and wandered over to the Chaucer section, where I came across a stunning facsimile of the Kelmscott Press edition of the works of Chaucer.

The illustrations are by Edward Burne Jones. Considering the size of the volume (554 pages) there are a remarkeable number of drawings. (the book also includes a glossary, which can be quite helpful if it's been a while since you last read Middle English!). What really struck me was that Burne-Jones never really repeats a border. I am truly in awe that someone could be so creative!

I would love to get a copy, but after doing a brief search on Amazon, I discovered that this lovely volume has gone out of print (if I'm wrong, please let me know!). Beautiful books like this are so inspiring to kids--the difference between reading a fantastic book like this and a dull paperback is immense. Maybe if there were more books like this around, people would be more inclined to pick up the works of Chaucer!

Ode to Autumn!

'Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods,

And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.

And night by night the monitory blast

Wails in the key-hole, telling how it pass'd

O'er empty fields or unpland solitudes

Or grim, wide wave; and now the power is felt

Of meloncholy, tenderer in its moods,

Than any joy indulgent summer dealt.'

--William Allingham