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-tower'd Camelot; The yellow-leaved waterlily The green-sheathed daffodilly Tremble in the water chilly        Round about Shalott. Willows whiten, aspens shiver. The sunbeam showers break and quiver In the stream that runneth ever By the island in the river        Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers        The Lady of Shalott. Underneath the bearded barley, The reaper, reaping late and early, Hears her ever chanting cheerly, Like an angel, singing clearly,        O'er the stream of Camelot. Piling the sheaves in furrows airy, Beneath the moon, the reaper weary Listening whispers, ' 'Tis the fairy,        Lady of Shalott.' The little isle is all inrail'd With a rose-fence, and overtrail'd With roses: by the marge unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken sail'd,        Skimming down to Camelot. A pearl garland winds her head: She leaneth on a velvet bed, Full royally apparelled,        The Lady of Shalott. Part II No time hath she to sport and play: A charmed web she weaves alway. A curse is on her, if she stay Her weaving, either night or day,        To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be; Therefore she weaveth steadily, Therefore no other care hath she,        The Lady of Shalott. She lives with little joy or fear. Over the water, running near, The sheepbell tinkles in her ear. Before her hangs a mirror clear,        Reflecting tower'd Camelot. And as the mazy web she whirls, She sees 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-hair'd page in crimson clad,        Goes by to tower'd 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, came from Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead Came two young lovers lately wed; 'I am half sick of shadows,' said        The Lady of Shalott. Part III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flam'd upon the brazen greaves        Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field,        Beside remote Shalott. 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 from Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung,        Beside remote Shalott. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together,        As he rode down from Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light,        Moves over green Shalott. His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode,        As he rode down from Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal mirror, 'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:'        Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom She made three paces thro' the room She saw the water-flower bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume,        She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; 'The curse is come upon me,' cried        The Lady of Shalott. Part IV 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 tower'd Camelot; Outside the isle a shallow boat Beneath a willow lay afloat, Below the carven stern she wrote,        The Lady of Shalott. A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight, All raimented in snowy white That loosely flew (her zone in sight Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright)        Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot, Though the squally east-wind keenly Blew, with folded arms serenely By the water stood the queenly        Lady of Shalott. With a steady stony glance— Like some bold seer in a trance, Beholding all his own mischance, Mute, with a glassy countenance—        She look'd down to Camelot. It was the closing of the day: She loos'd the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away,        The Lady of Shalott. As when to sailors while they roam, By creeks and outfalls far from home, Rising and dropping with the foam, From dying swans wild warblings come,        Blown shoreward; so to Camelot Still as the boathead wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her chanting her deathsong,        The Lady of Shalott. A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy, She chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her eyes were darken'd wholly, And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly,        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.

On both sides of the river are long fields of barley and rye, That cover the hills and meet the sky; And through the field, the road runs by To the many-towered Camelot; The yellow-leaved waterlily And the green-sheathed daffodil Shake in the cold water Around Shalott. Willows turn white, aspens shiver. Sunbeams break and quiver In the stream that always runs By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent island surrounds The Lady of Shalott. Underneath the bearded barley, The reaper, working late and early, Hears her always singing happily, Like an angel, singing clearly, Over the stream of Camelot. Piling the sheaves in airy rows, Under the moon, the tired reaper Listening whispers, 'It's the fairy, Lady of Shalott.' The little island is all fenced With a rose-fence, and covered With roses: by the edge unnoticed The boat with silk sails floats, Skimming down to Camelot. A pearl garland wraps her head: She leans on a velvet bed, Dressed royally, The Lady of Shalott. Part II She has no time to play: She always weaves a charmed web. A curse is on her, if she stops Her weaving, either night or day, To look down to Camelot. She doesn't know what the curse may be; So she weaves steadily, Therefore she has no other care, The Lady of Shalott. She lives with little joy or fear. Over the water, running near, The sheepbell rings in her ear. Before her hangs a clear mirror, Reflecting towered Camelot. And as she spins the tangled web, She sees the grumpy village people, And the red cloaks of market girls Pass onward from Shalott. Sometimes a group of happy girls, An abbot on a slow horse, Sometimes a curly-haired shepherd boy, Or a long-haired page in crimson clothes, Goes by to towered Camelot: And sometimes through the blue mirror The knights come riding two by two: She has no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott. But in her web she still enjoys To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often through the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, came from Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead Came two young lovers recently married; 'I am tired of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott. Part III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling through the leaves, And shone on the brass armor Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight forever kneeled To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott. The jeweled bridle glittered freely, Like a branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down from Camelot: And from his decorated belt hung A mighty silver bugle, And as he rode his armor rang, Beside remote Shalott. All in the blue clear weather Thick-jeweled shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burned like one burning flame together, As he rode down from Camelot. As often through the purple night, Below the bright starry clusters, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over green Shalott. His broad clear brow glowed in sunlight; On polished hooves his war-horse trod; From underneath his helmet flowed His coal-black curls as he rode, As he rode down from Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror, 'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:' Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom She took three steps through the room She saw the water-flower 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. Part IV In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were fading, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over towered Camelot; Outside the isle a shallow boat Beneath a willow lay afloat, Below the carved stern she wrote, The Lady of Shalott. A cloudwhite crown of pearl she wore, All dressed in snowy white That loosely flew (her belt in sight Clasped with one bright diamond) Her wide eyes fixed on Camelot, Though the squally east-wind blew keenly With folded arms serenely By the water stood the queenly Lady of Shalott. With a steady stony glance— Like some bold seer in a trance, Seeing all his own misfortune, Mute, with a glassy face— She looked down to Camelot. It was the end of the day: She loosened the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream carried her far away, The Lady of Shalott. As when to sailors while they roam, By creeks and outfalls far from home, Rising and dropping with the foam, From dying swans wild songs come, Blown shoreward; so to Camelot Still as the boathead wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her deathsong, The Lady of Shalott. A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy, She sang loudly, sang softly, Till her eyes were completely darkened, And her smooth face slowly sharpened, Turned to towered Camelot: For before she reached upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott.