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.
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.
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.
heard a carol, mournful, holy,
chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
till her blood was frozen slowly,
and her eyes were darken'd 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.
-alfred, lord tennyson
soley - pretty face
