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 grey walls, and four grey 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 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;
"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 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.
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."