by Lord Alfred Tennyson

    Part I

    On either side the river lie

    Long fields of barley¹ 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.

    Willows³ 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 grey walls， and four grey towers，

    Overlook a space of flowers，

    And the silent isle⁴ imbowers

    The Lady of Shalott.

    By the margin⁵， willow²-veiled，

    Slide the heavy barges⁶ 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 casement⁷ seen her stand？

    Or is she known in all the land，

    The Lady of Shalott？

    Only reapers⁹， reaping early

    In among the bearded barley，

    Hear a song that echoes cheerly

    From the river winding¹⁰ clearly，

    Down to towered Camelot：

    And by the moon the reaper⁸ 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 steadily¹¹，

    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 eddy¹² whirls，

    And there the surly village-churls，

    And the red cloaks of market girls，

    Pass onward¹³ from Shalott.

    Sometimes a troop of damsels glad，

    An abbot on an ambling¹⁴ pad，

    Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad，

    Or long-haired page in crimson¹⁵ clad，

    Goes by to towered Camelot；

    And sometimes through the mirror blue

    The knights¹⁷ come riding two and two：

    She hath no loyal knight¹⁶ 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 plumes¹⁹ and lights

    And music， went to Camelot：

    Or when the moon was overhead，

    Came two young lovers lately wed²⁰；

    "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 brazen²¹ 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 bridle²² glittered free，

    Like to some branch of stars we see

    Hung in the golden Galaxy²³.

    The bridle bells rang merrily

    As he rode down to Camelot：

    And from his blazoned²⁴ baldric slung²⁵

    A mighty²⁶ silver bugle²⁷ hung，

    And as he rode his armour²⁸ 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 starry²⁹ clusters bright，

    Some bearded meteor， trailing light，

    Moves over still Shalott.

    His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed；

    On burnished³⁰ hooves his war-horse trode；

    From underneath³¹ 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 loom³²，

    She made three paces through the room，

    She saw the water-lily bloom，

    She saw the helmet and the plume¹⁸，

    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 waning³³，

    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 prow³⁴ she wrote

    The Lady of Shalott.

    And down the river's dim expanse，

    Like some bold se？r in a trance

    Seeing all his own mischance——

    With a glassy countenance³⁵

    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 wharfs³⁶ they came，

    Knight and burgher， lord and dame³⁷，

    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 mused³⁸ 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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