Profile
Name:
Womanly Wordsmith
Channel Views:
9,568
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Joined:
Jul 14, 2010
Latest Activity:
3 weeks ago
Subscribers:
300
|| -- Prolific Pickings of a Stoic Poetess -- ||
About Me:
"From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view." --- {E.A.P.}
*~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~*~~~
"In 1846 and 1847, Baudelaire became acquainted with the works of Poe, in which he found tales and poems that had, he claimed, long existed in his own brain but never taken shape. Baudelaire had much in common with Poe (who died in 1849 at age forty). Both had a similar sensibility and macabre and supernatural turn of mind; both struggled with illness, poverty, and melancholy." --- {C.P.B. ~Quiver Kin}
*~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~*~~~
"How I have been thrilled and enchanted with shrill chant in response to my ounce of pouncing prose pond, my plentiful lament! I feel when I was hurled ragged 'pon this surfacing urn, soiled remnants of Edgar's exhaustion raving grave brewed thro' and thro' the personal sonnet closest to his intent in my timeless Birth and his untimely Death. O' eyes, doe woeful Poe, taming the colorless crease of alley dimmed pallet, the beckoned by beckoned brave raven landing remarkable marked remark unto ferris able nether on theist thrift trip to the child chill, multifarious parrots swarming and warming our children galore whilst in the corner of thine core, I baffled been lured forthright by a darkened ark, solely lit with the soulful tips of quill fingers, of which why the peck upon here peculiar youthful truth has declared herself ill each nipping night at noon beside the citified fry a'side reborn widows sill. Lying stricken midst the stirring of strict mother talent, whipping birthmarks into ink splotches that were earnest and meant. All flesh rising from the underbellies of bells croon thou and I, regarding his Heiness while as loyally guarded guise beringing to commit her mystic mission ceasing shalt not shout will wilt she allow his vitality nor organs gain a' sound to halt the organic gander but rune cliff ruin; wild strands amid midday lunatics sprouting 'bove the attics of treetop cerebrums brimming- eerily fuming and imperfectly perfuming." --- {M.H.W. ~PP}
Occupation:
Primitive Poetess Primevère
Schools:
Thine Thriving Poets Society
Interests:
Overall Artistry Outings ~ All
Movies:
Way Down East, Safety Last!
Music:
Nox Arcana, Wilhelm Wagner
Books:
Edgar A. Poe, Percy B. Shelley
Channel Comments
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