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-tower'd Camelot; And up and down the people go, The island of Shalott. Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Flowing down to Camelot. By the margin, willow-veil'd, Skimming down to Camelot : But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or is she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott? 997 Only reapers, reaping early Down to tower'd Camelot: PART II There she weaves by night and day To look down to Camelot, She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, And moving thro' a mirror clear Winding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls, And there the surly village-churls, Pass onward from Shalott. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, And sometimes thro' the mirror blue But in her web she still delights And music, went to Camelot: PART III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd That sparkled on the yellow field, The gemmy bridle glitter'd 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 blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung, All in the blue unclouded weather The helmet and the helmet-feather As often thro' the purple night, His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; As he rode down to Camelot. Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; PART IV In the stormy east-wind straining, Over tower'd Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And round about the prow she wrote |