No man hath walked about our roads with Might he not also hear one word amiss, Spoken from so far off, even from Olym step There she weaves by night and day 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 through a mirror clear There the river eddy whirls, 30 35 40 As he rode down to Camelot; And from his blazoned baldric slung 90 And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down 6 Hang rich in flowers, and far below them 135 roars 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— She floated down to Camelot; Heard a carol, mournful, holy, 140 145 |