Unthinkable Wings

I can't believe we haven't had any tennyson yet. Something Must Be Done. And we will have this, as I have just heard Bryn Terfyl singing it (which is pretty amazing...)

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me.

Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.

-- Alfred, Lord Tennyson

In a fit of absent-mindedness, I googled "now drops the crimson", and got a whole lot of rather icky-looking gothic/ urban fantasy stories about vampires. The sort that thing vampires are a Good Thing, I mean. Dominic disapproves.

In other news, I managed to spend last night and much of today accidentally writing Narnia-fic, which has somehow ended up being about the Problem of Susan, which I never imagined I'd write on. It was supposed to be about Lucy, anyway. It is now stalled, as I have to write Aslan, and I'm not sure I can. Though this is a bit stupid, given that I've written Jesus.