She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shallot.
Categories: Poetry
Tagged: Alfred Tennyson, fantasy, love poetry
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Free association
A.K. Ramanujam ageing childhood conversational culture dark humor death defiance E. E. Cummings Edna St. Vincent Millay family fantasy free verse gender history humorous poems identity imagery loneliness loss love poetry lyric poetry Margaret Atwood marriage melancholy mystic mythology nature Ogden Nash Pablo Neruda philosophy poems about poetry poignant politics religion repetend rhyme rhythm social commentary song lyrics sonnet Spanish suicide translation unsettling W. H. Auden war