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 surly 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; 66 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 through the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A redcross knight forever 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 armor 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 glowed; 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 lirra," 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.
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.
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