The Lady Of ShalottOn either side the river lie,Long fields of barley and of rye,That clothe the world and meet the sky;And through the field the road run byTo many-tower'd Camelot;And up and down the people go,Gazing where the lilies blowRound an island there below,The island of Shalott.Willows whiten, aspens quiver.Little breezes dusk and shiverThrough the wave that runs foreverBy the island in the riverFlowing down to Camelot.Four grey walls, and four grey towers,Overlook a space of flowers,And the silent isle embowersThe Lady of Shalott.Only reapers, reaping early,In among the beared barleyHear a song that echoes cheerlyFrom the river winding clearly;Down to tower'rd Camelot;And by the moon the reaper weary,Piling sheaves in uplands airy,Listening, whispers, "tis the fairyThe Lady of Shalott."There she weaves by night and dayA magic web with colours gay.She has heard a whisper say,A curse is on her if she stayTo look down to Camelot.She knows not what the curse may be,And so she weaveth steadily,And little other care heat she,The Lady of Shalott.And moving through a mirror clearThat hangs before her all the year,Shadows of the world appear.There she sees the highway nearWinding down to Camelot;And sometimes through the mirror blueThe knights come riding two and two.She hath no loyal Knight and true,The Lady of Shalott.But in her web she still delightsTo weave the mirror's magic sights.For often through the silent nightsA funeral, with plumes and lightsAnd music, went to Camelot;Or when the moon was overhead,Came two young lovers lately wed."I am half sick of shadows," said,The lady of Shalott.A bow-shot from her bower eaves,He rode between the barley sheaves,The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,And flamed upon the brazen greavesOf bold Sir Lancelot.A red-cross knight for ever kneel'dTo a lady in his shield,That sparkled on the yellow field,Beside remote Shalott.His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;From underneath his helmet flow'dHis coal black curls as on he rode,As he rode down to Camelot.From the bank and from the riverHe flashed into the crystal mirror,"Tirra lirra" by the riverSang Sir Lancelot.She left the web, she left the loom,She made three paces through the room,She saw the helmet and the plume,She look'd down to Camelot.Out flew the web and floated wide;The mirror crack'd from side to side;"The curse is come upon me," criedThe Lady of Shalott.In the stormy east-wind straining,The pale yellow woods were waning,The broad stream in his banks complaining,Heavily the low sky rainingOver tower'd Camelot;Down she came and found a boatBeneath a willow left afloat,And round about the prow she wroteThe Lady of Shalott.And down the river's dim expanseLike some bold seer in a trance,Seeing all his own mischance -With a glassy countenanceDid she look to Camelot.And at the closing of the dayShe loosed the chain, and down she lay;The broad stream bore her far away,The Lady of Shalott.Heard a carol, mournful, holy,Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,Till her blood was frozen slowly,And her eyes were darkened wholly,Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.For ere she reach'd upon the tideThe first house by the water-side,Singing in her song she died,The Lady of ShalottUnder tower and balcony,By garden-wall and gallery,A gleaming shape she floated by,Dead-pale between the houses high,Silent into Camelot.Out upon the wharfs they came,Knight and burgher, Lord and Dame.And around the prow they read her name,The Lady of Shalott.Who is this, and what is here?And in the lighted palace nearDied the sound of royal cheer,And they crossed themselves for fear,All the Knights at Camelot;But Lancelot mused a little spaceHe said "She has a lovely face;God in his mercy lend her grace,The Lady of Shalott."-Alfred Lord Tennyson-
Willows whiten, aspens quiver.Little breezes dusk and shiverThrough the wave that runs foreverBy the island in the riverFlowing down to Camelot.Four grey walls, and four grey towers,Overlook a space of flowers,And the silent isle embowersThe Lady of Shalott.
Only reapers, reaping early,In among the beared barleyHear a song that echoes cheerlyFrom the river winding clearly;Down to tower'rd Camelot;And by the moon the reaper weary,Piling sheaves in uplands airy,Listening, whispers, "tis the fairyThe Lady of Shalott."
There she weaves by night and dayA magic web with colours gay.She has heard a whisper say,A curse is on her if she stayTo look down to Camelot.She knows not what the curse may be,And so she weaveth steadily,And little other care heat she,The Lady of Shalott.
And moving through a mirror clearThat hangs before her all the year,Shadows of the world appear.There she sees the highway nearWinding down to Camelot;And sometimes through the mirror blueThe knights come riding two and two.She hath no loyal Knight and true,The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delightsTo weave the mirror's magic sights.For often through the silent nightsA funeral, with plumes and lightsAnd music, went to Camelot;Or when the moon was overhead,Came two young lovers lately wed."I am half sick of shadows," said,The lady of Shalott.
A bow-shot from her bower eaves,He rode between the barley sheaves,The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,And flamed upon the brazen greavesOf bold Sir Lancelot.A red-cross knight for ever kneel'dTo a lady in his shield,That sparkled on the yellow field,Beside remote Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;From underneath his helmet flow'dHis coal black curls as on he rode,As he rode down to Camelot.From the bank and from the riverHe flashed into the crystal mirror,"Tirra lirra" by the riverSang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,She made three paces through the room,She saw the helmet and the plume,She look'd down to Camelot.Out flew the web and floated wide;The mirror crack'd from side to side;"The curse is come upon me," criedThe Lady of Shalott.
In the stormy east-wind straining,The pale yellow woods were waning,The broad stream in his banks complaining,Heavily the low sky rainingOver tower'd Camelot;Down she came and found a boatBeneath a willow left afloat,And round about the prow she wroteThe Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanseLike some bold seer in a trance,Seeing all his own mischance -With a glassy countenanceDid she look to Camelot.And at the closing of the dayShe loosed the chain, and down she lay;The broad stream bore her far away,The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,Till her blood was frozen slowly,And her eyes were darkened wholly,Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.For ere she reach'd upon the tideThe first house by the water-side,Singing in her song she died,The Lady of Shalott
Under tower and balcony,By garden-wall and gallery,A gleaming shape she floated by,Dead-pale between the houses high,Silent into Camelot.Out upon the wharfs they came,Knight and burgher, Lord and Dame.And around the prow they read her name,The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this, and what is here?And in the lighted palace nearDied the sound of royal cheer,And they crossed themselves for fear,All the Knights at Camelot;But Lancelot mused a little spaceHe said "She has a lovely face;God in his mercy lend her grace,The Lady of Shalott."
-Alfred Lord Tennyson-