Maid in Bedlam

Abroad as I was walking one evening in the spring
I heard a maid in Bedlam who mournfully did sing
Her chains she rattled on her hands, and thus replied she
"I love my love because I know my love loves me

Oh cruel were his parents who sent my love to sea
And cruel was the sailing ship that bore my love from me
Yet I love his parents since their his, although they've ruined me
I love my love because I know my love loves me

With straw I'll weave a garland, I'll weave it wondrous fine
With roses, lilies, daisies I'll mix the eglantine
And I'll present it to my love when he returns from sea
I love my love because I know my love loves me"

Just as she sat there weeping, her love, he came on land
Then hearing she was in Bedlam he ran straight out of hand
He flew into her snow-white arms, and thus replied he
"I love my love because I know my love loves me"

She said, "My love, don't frighten me, are you my love or no?"
"Oh yes, my dearest Nancy, I am your love also
I am returned to make amends for all your injury
I love my love because I know my love loves me
I love my love because I know my love loves me

Cristian Girotto, L'Enfant Extérieur (The Outer Child)

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Heron Blue

Quote Of The Day

"With a feeling of deep but most singular affection I regarded my friend Morella. Thrown by accident into her society many years ago, my soul, from our first meeting, burned with fires it had never known—but the fires were not of Eros—and bitter and tormenting to my eager spirit was the gradual conviction that I could in no manner define their unusual meaning, or regulate their vague intensity. Yet we met: and Fate bound us together at the altar: and I never spoke of love, or thought of passion. She, however, shunned society, and, attaching herself to me alone, rendered me happy. It is a happiness to wonder. It is a happiness to dream".

Edgar Allan Poe - Morella (1835) 

Photo: George Frederic Watts

I Am The Night

I Am The Night

I've considered the night

as the moon's influence grew

over the sky.

I've sat with the night

when the only rain to touch the ground

is salted with regret,

and hastened by emotion.

I've become the night

when the sun falls off my sky

boiling itself into nothingness

as the moon's cold reign commences.

When no moon's white grace

could be reflected in a lover's eye,

I am the night

and I miss the sun dearly.

Michael Ardizzone

Photo: Hydra Artwork