Sonnet 130 by William Shakespeare read by Tom Hiddleston
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips’ red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damask’d, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.
In the 19th Century having a photograph taken was a lengthy process. Frustrated by the difficulties of getting children to sit still long enough to snap a proper photo , photographers in the 1800’s conceived of a technique called “The Hidden Mother”. Draping a sheet over the mothers head in an attempt to camouflage her as a part of the furniture to better emphasize the child, the mother was then able to hold her infant and keep them still long enough for the camera to get an exposure. Vintage photographs already have a eerie feel to them, but these images of moms as cloaked phantoms take the creep factor to the next level.