The bright fairy bower

 

The third page of Milk Thistle deals with Romantic (with a capital R) preoccupations with sickliness, and the cult of the (myth of the?) tortured artist.

 



 

 

The text reads:

 

Down in the thicket, the bright fairy bower

I am sickly and fey, I'm a delicate flower

 

Up in my garret, my ivory tower,

I wax and I wane, I pale by hour

 

 

I've surrounded the words with a garland of ribbon roses and tiny beaded blooms, and a thicket of wild flowers springs from the page.