The Lady of Shalott (1842)

PART I
     On either side the river lie
    Long fields of barley and of rye,
    That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
    And thro' the field the road runs by
        To many-tower'd 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
   Thro' 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 veil'd,
   Slide the heavy barges trail'd
   By slow horses; and unhail'd
   The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
       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 tower'd 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 thro' 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-hair'd page in crimson clad,
       Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
    And sometimes thro' 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 thro' 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 thro' the leaves,
   And flamed upon the brazen greaves
       Of bold Sir Lancelot.
   A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
   To a lady in his shield,
   That sparkled on the yellow field,
       Beside remote Shalott.

   The gemmy bridle glitter'd 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 blazon'd baldric slung
   A mighty silver bugle hung,
   And as he rode his armour rung,
       Beside remote Shalott.

   All in the blue unclouded weather
   Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
   The helmet and the helmet-feather
   Burn'd like one burning flame together,
       As he rode down to Camelot.
   As often thro' 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 burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
  From underneath his helmet flow'd
  His coal-black curls as on he rode,
     As he rode down to Camelot.
  From the bank and from the river
  He flash'd into the crystal mirror,
  "Tirra lirra," by the river
     Sang Sir Lancelot.

  She left the web, she left the loom,
  She made three paces thro' the room,
  She saw the water-lily bloom,
  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," 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,