Saturday, August 30, 2014

Adonais....Lost Angel of a Ruined Paradise, words to inspire

I am enamored with Percy Bysshe Shelley and the romantic poets of the early 1800s. Particularly, the poem Adonais which Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote to eulogize John Keats who died of tuberculosis in Rome at the age of 25. The Keats-Shelley House is located next to the Spanish Steps and is a romantic look back at work of these remarkable men.  Housed in the Museum are letters from notables of the day including Oscar Wilde who claimed "the most sacred spot in all of Rome is the grave of John Keats". It's not a typically Italian place to visit, but authentic and worth a stop!

I want to share a couple of excerpts from this beautiful work,

   And one with trembling hands clasps his cold head,
   and fans him with her moonlight wings and cries,
   "Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead,
   See on the silken fringe of his faint eyes,
   Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies
   A tear some Dream has loosened from his brain."
   Lost angel of a ruined Paradise!
   She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain
   She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.

The imagery contained in a "procession" of those who loved John Keats and bemoaned his passing is one of my favorite parts....the personification of our emotions and thoughts is poetry at its finest.


And others came...Desires and Adoration,
Winged Persuasions and veiled Destinies,
Splendours, and Glooms and glimmering Incarnations of hopes and fears,
and twilight Phantasies,
and Sorrow with her family of Sighs.
and Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the gleam
Of her own dying smile instead of eyes,
Came in slow pomp - the moving pomp might seem like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream

All he had loved, and moulded into thought,    
From shape,and hue,and odour, and sweet sound,
Lamented Adonais, Morning sought
Her eastern watchtower, and her hair unbound,
Wet with tears which should adorn the ground,
Dimmed the aereal eyes that kindle day;
Afar the melancholy thunder moaned,
Pale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay,
And the wild Winds flew round,
sobbing in their dismay.  
The romantic poets, Shelley, Keats and Lord Byron were all gone in a moment, none having lived even into their 40s.  Tragic figures, but great minds who bared their souls and left us some of the most lovely verse ever written.

 I used one of Lord Byron's poems, "She Walks In Beauty" in my last collage. This is my encouragement to any who might read this post to read up on these 3 men and allow their thoughts to inspire you to create. Words paint a picture...........paint yours.    ~Marie~


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