An error occurred while loading this video.Get your tissues ready, hide behind your computer screens and prepare to fall in love. The John Lewis promise to make everyone cry at Christmas has been fulfilled yet again and, to put it simply, they have outdone themselves. Titled the Man On The Moon, this year’s advert isn’t just a magical tale to make us feel all warm and fuzzy inside – it carries a powerful message. Set to a cover of Oasis’ Half The World Away, by critically acclaimed Norwegian singer Aurora, the retailer’s Christmas advert tells the story of Lily and The Man On The Moon. MORE: Twitter reacts to the John Lewis Christmas advert 2015 – but were you one of the criers or one of the cynics? Lily spots the Man On The Moon through her telescope and desperately tries to get his attention – but paper aeroplanes and letters addressed to ‘the moon’ don’t work. But then, a magical package arrives for the Man On The Moon and while we won’t ruin the ending for you, prepare for the waterworks.

The ad carries the strapline ‘Show someone they’re loved this Christmas’ – it’s a simple yet important message from the retail giants who have partnered with Age UK for their Christmas campaign.hills like white elephants analysis bead curtain They’re aiming to raise awareness of the saddening statistic that one million older people can go up to one month without speaking to a single friend, neighbour, loved one or even stranger.curtains for toyota granvia WHAT JOHN LEWIS SAYinsulating curtains - suede media grommet top panel ‘Our Christmas advert is once again all about going the extra mile to give someone the perfect gift. octorose curtains

This year though, the story is told in a uniquely creative and engaging way as we see Lily, our heroine, go to great lengths to connect with the Man on the Moon.levolor curtain rod extension “We hope it inspires people to find really special gifts for their loved ones and through our partnership with Age UK, raises awareness of the issue of loneliness amongst older people and encourages others to support in any way they can.”ready made curtains finchley Craig Inglis, Customer Director at John Lewissilver vintage faux textured dupioni silk curtain panel Christmas is a time of great joy – just don’t forget it’s also a time when some people find themselves alone.

MORE: John Lewis Christmas advert 2015: 16 emotional stages of watching this year’s advert Launching on John Lewis’ social media channels on Friday November 6 at 8am, it will be shown on TV for the first time during the first advert break of Gogglebox on Channel 4, as well as during the ad break for The X Factor on ITV1 on Saturday night. You’re crying right now, aren’t you? MORE: Here’s how you can help the lonely like the ‘Man on the Moon’ this Christmas MORE: 17 things you only understand if your granny is your best friend in the world MORE: The John Lewis Christmas advert 2015 is FINALLY here – but don’t get your hopes upDe ce terrible paysage, Tel que jamais mortel n'en vit, Ce matin encore l'image, Vague et lointaine, me ravit. Le sommeil est plein de miracles! Par un caprice singulier J'avais banni de ces spectacles Et, peintre fier de mon génie, Je savourais dans mon tableau Du métal, du marbre et de l'eau.

Babel d'escaliers et d'arcades, C'était un palais infini Plein de bassins et de cascades Tombant dans l'or mat ou bruni; Et des cataractes pesantes, Comme des rideaux de cristal À des murailles de métal. Non d'arbres, mais de colonnades Les étangs dormants s'entouraient Où de gigantesques naïades, Comme des femmes, se miraient. Des nappes d'eau s'épanchaient, bleues, Entre des quais roses et verts, Pendant des millions de lieues, Vers les confins de l'univers: C'étaient des pierres inouïes Et des flots magiques, c'étaient Par tout ce qu'elles reflétaient! Des Ganges, dans le firmament, Versaient le trésor de leurs urnes Dans des gouffres de diamant. Architecte de mes féeries, Je faisais, à ma volonté, Sous un tunnel de pierreries Passer un océan dompté; Et tout, même la couleur noire, Semblait fourbi, clair, irisé; Le liquide enchâssait sa gloire

Dans le rayon cristallisé. Nul astre d'ailleurs, nuls vestiges De soleil, même au bas du ciel, Pour illuminer ces prodiges, Qui brillaient d'un feu personnel! Et sur ces mouvantes merveilles Tout pour l'oeil, rien pour les oreilles!) En rouvrant mes yeux pleins de flamme J'ai vu l'horreur de mon taudis, Et senti, rentrant dans mon âme, La pointe des soucis maudits; La pendule aux accents funèbres Et le ciel versait des ténèbres Sur le triste monde engourdi. This morning I am still entranced By the image, distant and dim, Of that awe-inspiring landscape Such as no mortal ever saw. Sleep is full of miracles! Obeying a curious whim, I had banned from that spectacle And, painter proud of his genius, I savored in my picture Of water, marble, and metal. Babel of arcades and stairways, It was a palace infinite, Full of basins and of cascades Falling on dull or burnished gold,

Like curtains of crystal, Were hanging, bright and resplendent, From ramparts of metal. Not with trees but with colonnades The sleeping ponds were encircled; In these mirrors huge naiads Admired themselves like women. Streams of blue water flowed along Between rose and green embankments, Stretching away millions of leagues Toward the end of the universe; There were indescribable stones By everything they reflected! Ganges, in the firmament, Poured out the treasure of their urns Into chasms made of diamonds. Architect of my fairyland, Whenever it pleased me I made A vanquished ocean flow Into a tunnel of jewels; And all, even the color black, Seemed polished, bright, iridescent, Liquid enchased its own glory In the crystallized rays of light. Moreover, no star, no glimmer Of sun, even at the sky's rim, That burned with a personal fire! And over these shifting wonders

All for the eye, naught for the ear!) The silence of eternity. Opening my eyes full of flames I saw my miserable room And felt the cursed blade of care Sink deep into my heart again; The clock with its death-like accent Was brutally striking noon; The sky was pouring down its gloom Upon the dismal, torpid world. — William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954) Of the dread landscape that I saw, Where human eyes were never set, I still am ravished by the awe That, vague and distant, haunts me yet. Sleep is of miracles so fain That I (O singular caprice!) As being formless, could obtain That vegetable life should cease. A painter, in my genius free, I there exulted in the fettle Derived from a monotony Composed of marble, lymph, and metal. Babels of stairways and arcades, Endless and topless to behold, With ponds, and jets, and steep cascades

Filling receptacles of gold: Ponderous cataracts there swung Like crystal curtains, foaming shawls — Dazzling and glittering they hung Suspended from the metal walls. Not trees, but colonnades, enclosed Motionless lakes, besides whose shelves Like women, gazing at themselves. Blue sheets of water interlay Unnumbered quays of green and rose, That stretched a million leagues away To where the bounds of space impose. 'Twas formed of unknown stones that blazed And magic waves that intersect, Where icebergs floated, seeming dazed With all they mirror and reflect. Impassive, cold, and taciturn, Great Ganges, through the sky's vast prism, Each poured the treasures of its urn Into a diamond abysm. Architect of my fairy scene, I willed, by wondrous stratagems, An ocean, tamed, to pass between A tunnel that was made of gems. There all things, even the colour black, Seemed irridescently to play,

And liquid crystalised its lack Of outline in a frozen ray. No star, no sun could be discerned, Even low down, in that vast sky: The fire was personal that burned To show these marvels to the eye. Above these moving wonders sheer There soared (that such a thing should be! All for the eye, none for the ear!) A silence of eternity. My opening eyes, as red as coal, The horror of my lodging met. I felt re-entering my soul The knife of cares and vain regret. The clock with brutal accent playedThe time was noon And heaven covered, with its shade, The world, this fatuous balloon! — Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952) That marvelous landscape of my dream — Which no eye knows, nor ever will — At moments, wide awake, I seem To grasp, and it excites me still. Sleep, how miraculous you are — A strange caprice had urged my hand To banish, as irregular,

All vegetation from that land; And, proud of what my art had done, I viewed my painting, knew the great Of marble, water, steel and slate. Staircases and arcades there were In a long labyrinth, which led To a vast palace; Were gushing gold, and gushing lead. And many a heavy cataract Hung like a curtain, — did not fall, As water does, but hung, compact, Crystal, on many a metal wall. Tall nymphs with Titan breasts and knees Gazed at their images unblurred, Where groves of colonnades, not trees, Fringed a deep pool where nothing stirred. Blue sheets of water, left and right, Spread between quays of rose and green, To the world's end and out of sight, And still expanded, though unseen. Enchanted rivers, those — with jade And jasper were their banks bedecked; Enormous mirrors, dazzled, made Dizzy by all they did reflect. And many a Ganges, taciturn And heedless, in the vaulted air,

Poured out the treasure of its urn Into a gulf of diamond there. As architect, it tempted me To tame the ocean at its source; And this I did, — I made the sea Under a jeweled culvert course. And every color, even black, Became prismatic, polished, bright; The liquid gave its glory back Mounted in iridescent light. There was no moon, there was no sun, — For why should sun and moon conspire To light such prodigies? Blazed with its own essential fire! A silence like eternity Prevailed, there was no sound to hear; These marvels all were for the eye, And there was nothing for the ear.my mind was bright with flame; I saw the cheap and sordid hole I live in, and my cares all came Burrowing back into my soul. Brutally the twelve strokes of noon Against my naked ear were hurled; And a gray sky was drizzling down Upon this sad, lethargic world. — Edna St. Vincent Millay, Flowers of Evil (NY: Harper and Brothers, 1936)