The lady of Shalott

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,

se look'd down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide;

he mirror crack'd from side to side;

"The curse is come upon me," cried

The Lady of Shalott.

... down she came and found a boat

beneath a willow left afloat,

and around 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 --

thro' 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,

turn'd to tower'd Camelot.

For ere she reach'd upon the tide

the first house by the water-side,

singing in her song she died,

The Lady of Shalott.

A. Tennyson

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