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The Lady of Shalott by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. The Lady of Shalott by J Waterhouse
Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The Lady of Shalott

(1842 Version)

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(1842 Version)

Thanks to the Internet Archive for this recording


On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye,

That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' 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

Thro' the wave that runs forever 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 summer barley,

Hear a tune 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.'


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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 thro' 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 thro' 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 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.


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A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves,

The sun came dazzling thro' 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 thro' 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 room, She made three paces thro' 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


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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 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,

Turned to towered Camelot.


 For ere she reached upon the tide The first house on 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.


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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.'

She lay as tho she smiled
Alfred, Lord Tennyson

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Related Pages

'Lancelot and Elaine' from the Idylls of the King

The Lady of Shalott



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