"From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity."
Part Trois ♠
One evening, as they sat this cosily together someone knocked at the door, as though they desired admittance. The mother said: “Rose-Red, open the door quickly; it must be some traveler seeking shelter.” Rose-Red hastened to unbar the door, and thought she saw a poor man standing in the darkness outside; but it was no such thing, only a bear who poked his thick black head through the door. Rose-Red screamed and sprang back in terror, he lamb began to bleat, the dove flapped its wings and Snow-White ran and his behind her mother’s bed. But the bear began to speak and said” “Don’t be afraid: I won’t hurt you. I am half frozen, and only wish to warm myself a little.”
I think every ‘old school’ lolita will immediately feel nostalgic upon looking at this. And lolitas who are brand new: a very long time ago, when only EGL and black and white co-ords existed and the only acceptable chapeau was the adorable headdress- there were these illustrations. They were done by a man whose name I cannot remember, but I was obsessed with these illustrations, they were the wallpaper on my computer and I was in heaven.
Thank you very much, you are most kind.
A few flakes of snow were falling, and one of them, rather larger than the rest, alighted on the edge of one of the flower boxes. This snow-flake grew larger and larger, till at last it became the figure of a woman, dressed in garments of white gauze, which looked like millions of starry snow-flakes linked together. She was fair and beautiful, but made of ice—shining and glittering ice. Still she was alive and her eyes sparkled like bright stars, but there was neither peace nor rest in their glance.
Gray sail against the sky,
Have you a dream for going
Or are you only the blind wind’s blowing?
Her white knight did come for her,Her mother’s words were true.The happy ending came at last,and her long sadness is in the past.
When I saw you, I was afraid of meeting you.
When I met you, I was afraid of kissing you.
When I kissed you, I was afraid to love you.
Now that I love you, I’m afraid of losing you.
Dresses for breakfasts, and dinners, and balls.
Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in;
Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in,
Dresses in which to do nothing at all;
Dresses for Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall;
All of them different in color and shape.
Silk, muslin, and lace, velvet, satin, and crape,
Brocade and broadcloth, and other material,
Quite as expensive and much more ethereal.
This will be the door to my salon, a bright, cheery colour that attracts the eye and beckons the hand to lead the body to enter my salon. The air would be perfumed, and the sweet sound of conversation and laughter would drift upon the air. Would you enter?
The wounds are terrible. The paint is old.
The cracks along the lips and on the cheeks
cannot be fixed. The cotton lawn is soiled.
The arms are ivory dissolved to wax.
Recall the Quadrille. Hum the waltz.
Promenade on the yacht-club terraces.
Put back the lamps in their copper holders,
the carriage wheels on the cobbled quays.