"She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-lily 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." [Illustration: _Painting by W. H. Margetson._ THE LADY OF SHALOTT.] "Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the ways that runs for 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 embowers The Lady of Shalott.... "Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly, From the river winding clearly, Down to tower'd Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers, ''Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott.' "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 on 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. * * * * * "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 kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott. "All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet feather, 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 glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his warhorse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd 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.