By Kat Giantis
Elizabeth Taylor left this world in the same way she lived in it: glamorously and behind schedule. Her final request was to arrive 15 minutes late for the small private service. But that wasn't the only part of her funeral that had people buzzing. Colin Farrell also took part in the laying to rest of the Hollywood legend, and his presence left many wondering about their connection.
According to E! Online, the Irish actor was a "close friend" of Elizabeth's, and she gushed about his talents during a Harper's Bazaar chat earlier this year with Kim Kardashian.
"I love Johnny Depp, and I love Colin Farrell," enthused Taylor, "both brilliant, nuanced actors with great range."
And she certainly would know.
Last year, rumors began percolating that Farrell was the front-runner to play Liz's two-time ex-husband Richard Burton in a movie chronicling their epically tempestuous romance. Taylor, however, denied such a film was in the works, insisting, "No one is going to play Elizabeth Taylor but Elizabeth Taylor herself. Not at least until I'm dead."
At the service, Farrell didn't just pay his respects to the violet-eyed, altruistic icon, who passed away Wednesday at the age of 79. He also read a poem, "The Leaden Echo and the Golden Echo," by Gerard Manley Hopkins.
As a way of remembering Elizabeth, and of expanding our literary knowledge on a Friday that would otherwise be spent watching "South Park" reruns, we thought we'd share the lovely ode, in its entirety.
When you're done reading, be sure to click through this gallery of Taylor through the years, and read the 25 things you might not have known about her. It will only drive home how dearly she will be missed.
THE LEADEN ECHO
How to keep--is there any any, is there none such, nowhere known some, bow or brooch or braid or brace, lace, latch or catch or key to keep
Back beauty, keep it, beauty, beauty, beauty, … from vanishing away?
O is there no frowning of these wrinkles, ranked wrinkles deep,
Down? no waving off of these most mournful messengers, still messengers, sad and stealing messengers of grey?
No there's none, there's none, O no there's none,
Nor can you long be, what you now are, called fair,
Do what you may do, what, do what you may,
And wisdom is early to despair:
Be beginning; since, no, nothing can be done
To keep at bay
Age and age's evils, hoar hair,
Ruck and wrinkle, drooping, dying, death's worst, winding sheets, tombs and worms and tumbling to decay;
So be beginning, be beginning to despair.
O there's none; no no no there's none:
Be beginning to despair, to despair,
Despair, despair, despair, despair.
THE GOLDEN ECHO
There is one, yes I have one (Hush there!);
Only not within seeing of the sun,
Not within the singeing of the strong sun,
Tall sun's tingeing, or treacherous the tainting of the earth's air.
Somewhere elsewhere there is ah well where! one,
One. Yes I can tell such a key, I do know such a place,
Where whatever's prized and passes of us, everything that's fresh and fast flying of us, seems to us sweet of us and swiftly away with, done away with, undone,
Undone, done with, soon done with, and yet dearly and dangerously sweet
Of us, the wimpled-water-dimpled, not-by-morning-matched face,
The flower of beauty, fleece of beauty, too too apt to, ah! to fleet,
Never fleets more, fastened with the tenderest truth
To its own best being and its loveliness of youth: it is an ever-lastingness of, O it is an all youth!
Come then, your ways and airs and looks, locks, maiden gear, gallantry and gaiety and grace,
Winning ways, airs innocent, maiden manners, sweet looks, loose locks, long locks, lovelocks, gaygear, going gallant, girlgrace--
Resign them, sign them, seal them, send them, motion them with breath,
And with sighs soaring, soaring sighs deliver
Them; beauty-in-the-ghost, deliver it, early now, long before death
Give beauty back, beauty, beauty, beauty, back to God, beauty's self and beauty's giver.
See; not a hair is, not an eyelash, not the least lash lost; every hair
Is, hair of the head, numbered.
Nay, what we had lighthanded left in surly the mere mould
Will have waked and have waxed and have walked with the wind what while we slept,
This side, that side hurling a heavyheaded hundredfold
What while we, while we slumbered.
O then, weary then why should we tread? O why are we so haggard at the heart, so care-coiled, care-killed, so fagged, so fashed, so cogged, so cumbered,
When the thing we freely forfeit is kept with fonder a care,
Fonder a care kept than we could have kept it, kept
Far with fonder a care (and we, we should have lost it) finer, fonder
A care kept. Where kept? Do but tell us where kept, where.--
Yonder.--What high as that! We follow, now we follow.--
Yonder, yes yonder, yonder,