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b'Alfred, Lord Tennyson read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com\\n\\nGiving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- \\n\\nThe Lady of Shalott \\nby Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809 \\u2013 1892) \\n1842 edition\\n\\nPart I. \\n\\nOn either side the river lie \\nLong fields of barley and of rye, \\nThat clothe the wold and meet the sky; \\nAnd thro\' the field the road runs by \\n To many-tower\'d Camelot; \\nAnd up and down the people go, \\nGazing where the lilies blow \\nRound an island there below, \\n The island of Shalott. \\n\\nWillows whiten, aspens quiver, \\nLittle breezes dusk and shiver \\nThro\' the wave that runs for ever \\nBy the island in the river \\n Flowing down to Camelot. \\nFour gray walls, and four gray towers, \\nOverlook a space of flowers, \\nAnd the silent isle imbowers \\n The Lady of Shalott. \\n\\nBy the margin, willow-veil\'d \\nSlide the heavy barges trail\'d \\nBy slow horses; and unhail\'d \\nThe shallop flitteth silken-sail\'d \\n Skimming down to Camelot: \\nBut who hath seen her wave her hand? \\nOr at the casement seen her stand? \\nOr is she known in all the land, \\n The Lady of Shalott? \\n\\nOnly reapers, reaping early \\nIn among the bearded barley, \\nHear a song that echoes cheerly \\nFrom the river winding clearly, \\n Down to tower\'d Camelot: \\nAnd by the moon the reaper weary, \\nPiling sheaves in uplands airy, \\nListening, whispers "\'Tis the fairy \\n Lady of Shalott." \\n\\nPart II. \\n\\nThere she weaves by night and day \\nA magic web with colours gay. \\nShe has heard a whisper say, \\nA curse is on her if she stay \\n To look down to Camelot. \\nShe knows not what the curse may be, \\nAnd so she weaveth steadily, \\nAnd little other care hath she, \\n The Lady of Shalott. \\n\\nAnd moving thro\' a mirror clear \\nThat hangs before her all the year, \\nShadows of the world appear. \\nThere she sees the highway near \\n Winding down to Camelot: \\nThere the river eddy whirls, \\nAnd there the surly village-churls, \\nAnd the red cloaks of market girls, \\n Pass onward from Shalott. \\n\\nSometimes a troop of damsels glad, \\nAn abbot on an ambling pad, \\nSometimes a curly shepherd-lad, \\nOr long-hair\'d page in crimson clad, \\n Goes by to tower\'d Camelot; \\nAnd sometimes thro\' the mirror blue \\nThe knights come riding two and two: \\nShe hath no loyal knight and true, \\n The Lady of Shalott. \\n\\nBut in her web she still delights \\nTo weave the mirror\'s magic sights, \\nFor often thro\' the silent nights \\nA funeral, with plumes and lights \\n And music, went to Camelot: \\nOr when the moon was overhead, \\nCame two young lovers lately wed; \\n"I am half-sick of shadows," said \\n The Lady of Shalott. \\n\\nPart III. \\n\\nA bow-shot from her bower-eaves, \\nHe rode between the barley-sheaves, \\nThe sun came dazzling thro\' the leaves, \\nAnd flamed upon the brazen greaves \\n Of bold Sir Lancelot. \\nA redcross knight for ever kneel\'d \\nTo a lady in his shield, \\nThat sparkled on the yellow field, \\n Beside remote Shalott. \\n\\nThe gemmy bridle glitter\'d free, \\nLike to some branch of stars we see \\nHung in the golden Galaxy. \\nThe bridle-bells rang merrily \\n As he rode down to Camelot: \\nAnd from his blazon\'d baldric slung \\nA mighty silver bugle hung, \\nAnd as he rode his armour rung, \\n Beside remote Shalott. \\n\\nAll in the blue unclouded weather \\nThick-jewell\'d shone the saddle-leather, \\nThe helmet and the helmet-feather \\nBurn\'d like one burning flame together, \\n As he rode down to Camelot. \\nAs often thro\' the purple night, \\nBelow the starry clusters bright, \\nSome bearded meteor, trailing light, \\n Moves over still Shalott. \\n\\nHis broad clear brow in sunlight glow\'d; \\nOn burnish\'d hooves his war-horse trode; \\nFrom underneath his helmet flow\'d \\nHis coal-black curls as on he rode, \\n As he rode down to Camelot. \\nFrom the bank and from the river \\nHe flash\'d into the crystal mirror, \\n"Tirra lirra," by the river \\n Sang Sir Lancelot. \\n\\nShe left the web, she left the loom, \\nShe made three paces thro\' the room, \\nShe saw the water-lily bloom, \\nShe saw the helmet and the plume, \\n She look\'d down to Camelot. \\nOut flew the web and floated wide; \\nThe mirror crack\'d from side to side; \\n"The curse is come upon me," cried \\n The Lady of Shalott. \\n\\nPart IV. \\n\\nIn the stormy east-wind straining, \\nThe pale-yellow woods were waning, \\nThe broad stream in his banks complaining, \\nHeavily the low sky raining \\n Over tower\'d Camelot; \\nDown she came and found a boat \\nBeneath a willow left afloat, \\nAnd round about the prow she wrote \\n The Lady of Shalott. \\n\\nAnd down the river\'s dim expanse-- \\nLike some bold se\\xebr in a trance, \\nSeeing all his own mischance-- \\nWith a glassy countenance \\n Did she look to Camelot. \\nAnd at the closing of the day \\nShe loosed the chain, and down she lay; \\nThe broad stream bore her far away, \\n The Lady of Shalott. \\n\\nLying, robed in snowy white \\nThat loosely flew to left and right-- \\nThe leaves upon her falling light-- \\nThro\' the noises of the night \\n She floated down to Camelot: \\nAnd as the boat-head wound along \\nThe willowy hills and fields among, \\nThey heard her singing her last song, \\n The Lady of Shalott. \\n\\nHeard a carol, mournful, holy, \\nChanted loudly, chanted lowly, \\nTill her blood was frozen slowly, \\nAnd her eyes were darken\'d wholly, \\n Turn\'d to tower\'d Camelot; \\nFor ere she reach\'d upon the tide \\nThe first house by the water-side, \\nSinging in her song she died, \\n The Lady of Shalott. \\n\\nUnder tower and balcony, \\nBy garden-wall and gallery, \\nA gleaming shape she floated by, \\nA corse between the houses high, \\n Silent into Camelot. \\nOut upon the wharfs they came, \\nKnight and burgher, lord and dame, \\nAnd round the prow they read her name, \\n The Lady of Shalott. \\n\\nWho is this? and what is here? \\nAnd in the lighted palace near \\nDied the sound of royal cheer; \\nAnd they cross\'d themselves for fear, \\n All the knights at Camelot: \\nBut Lancelot mused a little space; \\nHe said, "She has a lovely face; \\nGod in his mercy lend her grace, \\n The Lady of Shalott." \\n\\n\\n Reading \\xa9 Classic Poetry Aloud, 2008.'