Those who hear not the music think the dancers mad.
During the fledgling age of portrait photography, it was of the utmost importance for the subjects to stay still for a period of time. Obviously since this would be difficult for children, their mothers were brought in for the portrait.
For reasons I cannot fathom, it was common for the mothers to be covered in cloth or a curtain. These fabric- covered matriarch were jokingly referred to as ‘Ghost Mums’.
I wish more people enjoyed writing and receiving letters, I have a small pile of personal correspondence but I wish it was larger ❀
I do not know what has happened to my Tumblr, it seems that these random posts started yesterday. I am trying to fix it as soon as possible, this is very upsetting.
the letter is already written, so all you have to do is click send.
Reblogging for all you Canadians out there.
As a Canadian, I feel very strongly about this and I hope that more people attempt to stop this.
A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew,
And the young winds fed it with silver dew,
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light,
And clothed them beneath the kisses of night.
Where shall we make her grave?
Oh! where the wild flowers wave
In the free air!
When shower and singing-bird
'Midst the young leaves are heard,
There—lay her there!
The wearer of dreams by my bedside stands,
And tells me of castle in strange, fair lands…
He plays for me music… soft, yet so clear-
And brings from my memory scene which are dear.
He guides me over hills, all covered with flowers,
And out in the fields I wander for hours…
And lo! All at once I hear your voice-
It is clear, as it calls, and I rejoice!…
To your arms I run, and there I would stay,
But the weaver of dreams has something to say-
For he calls me, too soon it would seem…
And then I am home, and I wake from my dream.