| |
. |
|
| There she weaves by night and day |
And moving thro' the mirror clear |
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, |
| A magic web with colours gay. |
That hangs before her all the year, |
He rode between the barley-sheaves, |
| She has heard a whisper say, |
Shadows of the world appear. |
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, |
| A curse is on her if she stay |
There she sees the highway near |
And flamed upon the brazen greaves |
| To look down to Camelot. |
Winding down to Camelot. |
Of bold Sir Lancelot. |
| A red-cross knight for ever kneeled |
She left the web, she left the loom, |
Out flew the web and floated wide, |
| To a lady in his shield, |
She made three paces thro' the room |
The mirror cracked from side to side, |
| That sparkled on the yellow field, |
She saw the water lilly bloom, |
'The Curse is come upon me,' cried |
| Beside Remote Shalott. |
She saw the helmet and the plume, |
The Lady of Shalott. |
|
She looked down to Camelot. |
|
|
|
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON |
| |
. |
|
