Is this a good idea? Would people get it? I’ve been wanting to do it for a while. For the record I want to dress up as Lewis Carroll, not one of his characters

Despite his awkwardness around people, and his "hesitation", do you think that Lewis Carroll would easily be flustered? (Not by children.)

He stept so lightly to the land,

All in his manly pride:

He kissed her cheek, he clasped her hand;

Yet still she glanced aside.

"Too gay he seems," she darkly dreams,

"Too gallant and too gay,

To think of me—poor simple me—

When he is far away!"

"I bring my Love this goodly pearl

Across the seas," he said:

"A gem to deck the dearest girl

That ever sailor wed!"

She holds it tight: her eyes are bright:

Her throbbing heart would say

"He thought of me—he thought of me—

When he was far away!"

The ship has sailed into the West:

Her ocean-bird is flown:

A dull dead pain is in her breast,

And she is weak and lone:

But there's a smile upon her face,

A smile that seems to say

"He'll think of me—he'll think of me—

When he is far away!

"Though waters wide between us glide,

Our lives are warm and near:

No distance parts two faithful hearts—

Two hearts that love so dear:

And I will trust my sailor-lad,

For ever and a day,

To think of me—to think of me—

When he is far away!"

While in Ikea, 15 years ago! I saw a pot plant called "Billig" and thought "'Twas Billig..." and it eventually turned into this 🙂 Hope you enjoy, and sorry about the pronunciation.

IKEAWOCKY

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_VHK40mptl4&pp=ygUdc2luY2VyZWx5IHlvdXJzIGxld2lzIGNhcnJvbGw%3D

Here is the short film. I was hoping there might be a higher quality version out there somewhere.

View Poll

I love the stillness of the wood:

I love the music of the rill:

I love to couch in pensive mood

Upon some silent hill.

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Scarce heard, beneath yon arching trees,

The silver-crested ripples pass;

And, like a mimic brook, the breeze

Whispers among the grass.

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Here from the world I win release,

Nor scorn of men, nor footstep rude,

Break in to mar the holy peace

Of this great solitude.

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Here may the silent tears I weep

Lull the vexed spirit into rest,

As infants sob themselves to sleep

Upon a mother’s breast.

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But when the bitter hour is gone,

And the keen throbbing pangs are still,

Oh sweetest then to couch alone

Upon some silent hill!

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To live in joys that once have been,

To put the cold world out of sight,

And deck life’s drear and barren scene

With hues of rainbow-light.

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For what to man the gift of breath,

If sorrow be his lot below;

If all the day that ends in death

Be dark with clouds of woe?

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Shall the poor transport of an hour

Repay long years of sore distress—

The fragrance of a lonely flower

Make glad the wilderness?

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Ye golden hours of Life’s young spring,

Of innocence, of love and truth!

Bright, beyond all imagining,

Thou fairy-dream of youth!

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I’d give all wealth that years have piled,

The slow result of Life’s decay,

To be once more a little child

For one bright summer-day.