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JSTOR_Daily: Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal had her own aspirations as an artist.

JSTOR_Daily: Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal had her own aspirations as an artist.

Pub_Hist: Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal Lady Clare

always0nny: I care not for my Lady’s soul Though I worship before her smile; I care not where be my Lady’s goal When her beauty shall lose its wile. Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal

always0nny: Low sit I down at my Lady’s feet Gazing through her wild eyes Smiling to think how my love will fleet When their starlike beauty dies. Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal

always0nny: I care not if my Lady pray To our Father which is in Heaven But for joy my heart’s quick pulses play For to me her love is given. Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal

always0nny: Then who shall close my Lady’s eyes And who shall fold her hands? Will any hearken if she cries Up to the unknown lands? The Lust Of The Eyes by Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal

yianniseinstein: Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal (25 July 1829 – 11 February 1862) was an English artist--Self portrait

Inmediopugna: Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal The Descent from the Cross

TateArtBot: Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal, Lady Affixing Pennant to a Knight’s Spear, 1856

projectourworld: The Haunted Wood Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal (1829–1862) National Trust, Wightwick Manor

ubu507: The Haunted Wood Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal (1829–1862) National Trust, Wightwick Manor

Asamsakti: Shackles it has held us in it’s embrace into 2021 with hope and optimism Poem by Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal With utmost gratitude to

JPJaminNY: “The Haunted Wood” ~ Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal

mahynourr_magdy: “Two girls in a conservatory” | By Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal - (English,1829-1862), Attributed to Arthur Hughes - (English,1832-1915).



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Poem of the day

Andrew Lang Poem
Ballade Of The Midnight Forest
 by Andrew Lang

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
...

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