Anna Carranza 's Blog
Geoffrey Chaucer had some very famous connections. His wife, Phillippa,
was the sister of Katherine de Roet who became the mistress of John of
Gaunt. John and Katherine married in their later years when their
children were legitimised and from their descendants the Royal House of
Tudor was born. Geoffrey Chaucer was thought to write poems praising
the legendary beauty of Katherine. He was always a man of the people
and this was clearly conveyed in some of the bawdy humour portrayed in
his most famous work , the Canterbury Tales.
Anne Boleyn was the second of the six wives of Henry VIII of England and also the mother of
Queen Elizabeth I. Anne is tragically remembered for her untimely
death when she was executed for Treason. The charges laid against her
included adultery and incest with her brother George Boleyn, Lord
Rochford. Those accused of adultery with Anne Boleyn were Mark Smeaton,
a court musician. At her trial Mark Smeaton was the only man to speak
against her and this was following brutal torture. He later rescinded
his confession and was executed by being hung, drawn and quartered. The
other men accused with Anne were courtiers: William Brereton, Henry
Norris and Francis Bryan. These men were also executed but by the means
of the axe which was traditionally used for high ranking noblemen.
Miss Anna Carranza invites you to read some lovely poems
My home is in a broader day:
at times I catch it glistening
thro' the dull gate, a flower'd play
and odour of undying spring:
When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue,
Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep,
So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.
Ho! clumsy brown stone,
Quick, make way for me:
I'm the fairest thing
That floats on the sea.
Love poems that Miss Anna Carranza likes
From strength to strength advancing only he,
His soul well-knit, and all his battles won,
Mounts, and that hardly, to eternal life.
A little bubble
Once came sailing by,
And thus to the rock
Did it gayly cry,
Ay, we had saved our days and kept them whole,
to whom no part in our old joy remains,
had felt those bright winds sweeping thro' our soul
and all the keen sea tumbling in our veins,
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