#19th century poetry

the vampire by philip burne-jones (1897). the model is actress mrs patrick campbell; burne jones was the oldest son of pre-raphaelite painter edward burne-jones.

hidden details in millais’ ophelia: 

• a robin perched on a branch in the upper right hand corner.
• a mist of cobweb above the sitter’s feet ominously remminiscent of a skull.
• dead reeds rotting in the water. the backdrop was in 1851 from june until november, in ewell, surrey.
• a garland of violets around the neck of ophelia, modelled by elizabeth siddal.

Sunday morning started out to be cool and damp, and became a great deal cooler and damper when the wild west wind swept mist and rain in from the mighty Atlantic ocean, which was only a bird’s hop away…

But Algy was not daunted. The one thing he had particularly missed during his adventures in the mysterious land of Patadragonia was his library of poetry books, and he was determined to spend his Sunday reading, come rain or shine (though preferably shine)…

So he settled down on the soggy turf and opened one of his fluffy-bird-sized volumes of verse, propping it up carefully on his knees in an effort to keep it away from the wet grass. The colourful leaves from the wee cherry tree had mostly fallen now, and he was delighted to observe that he was surrounded by a lovely patchwork quilt of colour.

Despite the weather Algy’s spirits were high, even though his tail feathers were decidedly cold and wet, and he turned the pages of his poetry book with glee, pausing at one point to read:

Bending above the spicy woods which blaze,
Arch skies so blue they flash, and hold the sun
Immeasurably far; the waters run
Too slow, so freighted are the river-ways
With gold of elms and birches from the maze
Of forests. Chestnuts, clicking one by one,
Escape from satin burs; her fringes done,
The gentian spreads them out in sunny days,
And, like late revelers at dawn, the chance
Of one sweet, mad, last hour, all things assail,
And conquering, flush and spin; while, to enhance
The spell, by sunset door, wrapped in a veil
Of red and purple mists, the summer, pale,
Steals back alone for one more song and dance.

Algy hopes that you can all spend a happy Sunday engaging in your favourite pastimes, and that the weather will make an effort to be kind to you ☀️

[Algy is quoting the poem October by the 19th century American poet Helen Hunt Jackson.]