By Alfred Lord Tennyson
Part I
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of
rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road
runs by
To many-towered Camelot;
And up and down the people
go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there
below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and
shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the
river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray
towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle
imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow veiled
Slide the heavy barges
trailed
By slow horses; and unhailed
The shallop flitteth
silken-sailed
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her
wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is
she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded
barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding
clearly,
Down to towered Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper
weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers "'Tis the
fairy
Lady of Shalott."
Part II
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours
gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she
stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse
may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath
she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all
the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway
near
Winding down to Camelot:
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the curly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market
girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling
pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-haired page in crimson
clad,
Goes by to towered Camelot;
And sometimes through the
mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal
knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For
often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and
lights
And 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.
Part III
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the
barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling through the leaves,
And flamed
upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross
knight for ever kneeled
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the
yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glittered free,
Like to some branch of
stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang
merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazoned
baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour
rung,
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewelled shone the
saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burned like one
burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often
through the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded
meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnished
hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flowed
His
coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lira," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces
through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and
the plume,
She looked down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and
floated wide;
The mirror cracked from side to side;
"The curse is come
upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.
Part IV
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods
were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low
sky raining
Over towered Camelot;
Down she came and found a
boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she
wrote
The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a
trance,
Seeing all his own mischance —
With a glassy
countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of
the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore
her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and
right —
The leaves upon her falling light —
Through the noises of the
night
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound
along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her
last song,
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,
Turned to towered Camelot.
For ere she reached upon
the tide
The 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 round the prow they read her
name,
The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace
near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for
fear,
All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little
space;
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her
grace,
The Lady of Shalott."
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Fannie in the Kitchen
