#sun shallop

[pagan-stitches]

Hail Sunna/Saule/Solntse!!!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

The Lady of Shalott is a painting of 1888 by the English painter John William Waterhouse. It is a representation of the ending of Alfred, Lord Tennyson's 1832 poem of the same name.

The Lady of Shalott (1832) By Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Part I

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.

Under tower and balcony, By garden wall and gallery, A pale, pale corpse she floated by, Deadcold, between the houses high, Dead into tower'd Camelot. Knight and burgher, lord and dame, To the planked wharfage came: Below the stern they read her name, The Lady of Shalott.

They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest, Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest. There lay a parchment on her breast, That puzzled more than all the rest, The wellfed wits at Camelot. 'The web was woven curiously, The charm is broken utterly, Draw near and fear not,—this is I, The Lady of Shalott.'

[wistfulweaverwoman]

My URL is a tongue-in-cheek reference to Anne Shirley, specifically when she play acts as the Lilymaid, Elaine, from Lord Alfred Tennyson’s poem, The Lady of Shalott.

Her annoyance that Gilbert Blythe of all people should find her clinging to the pylons and rescue her, and worse that her friends should find it so romantic, endears this scene to me. It’s one of my most favorites from the entire series, right up there with “Rilla MY Rilla?”.

Wistfulweaverwoman specifically comes from the line “there she weaves by night and day, a magic web with colors gay”, while my AO3 is Lilymaid.

Here is the poem in its entirety:

The Lady of Shalott (1842)

BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

Part I

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;

And up and down the people go,

Gazing where the lilies blow

Round an island there below,

The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,

Little breezes dusk and shiver

Thro' the wave 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 imbowers

The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,

Slide the heavy barges trail'd

By slow horses; and unhail'd

The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd

Skimming down to Camelot:

But who hath seen her wave her hand?

Or at the casement seen her stand?

Or is she known in all the land,

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."

Part II

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 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 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.

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, went to 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 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.

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,

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 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 war-horse 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 flash'd into the crystal mirror,

"Tirra lirra," by the river

Sang Sir Lancelot.

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.

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;

Down she came and found a boat

Beneath a willow left afloat,

And round about the prow she wrote

The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse

Like some bold seër in a trance,

Seeing all his own mischance—

With a glassy countenance

Did she look to Camelot.

And at the closing of the day

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—

The leaves upon her falling light—

Thro' the noises of the night

She floated down to Camelot:

And as the boat-head wound along

The willowy hills and fields among,

They heard her singing her last song,

The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,

Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

Till her blood was frozen slowly,

And her eyes were darken'd wholly,

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.

Under tower and balcony,

By garden-wall and gallery,

A gleaming shape she floated by,

Dead-pale between the houses high,

Silent into Camelot.

Out upon the wharfs they came,

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

And round the prow they read her name,

The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? and what is here?

And in the lighted palace near

Died the sound of royal cheer;

And they cross'd themselves for fear,

All the knights at Camelot:

But Lancelot mused a little space;

He said, "She has a lovely face;

God in his mercy lend her grace,

The Lady of Shalott."

[notbeingnoticed]

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.

Under tower and balcony,

By garden wall and gallery,

A pale, pale corpse she floated by,

Deadcold, between the houses high,

       Dead into tower'd Camelot.

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

To the planked wharfage came:

Below the stern they read her name,

 The Lady of Shalott.

They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest,

Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.

There lay a parchment on her breast,

That puzzled more than all the rest,

       The wellfed wits at Camelot.

'The web was woven curiously,

The charm is broken utterly,

Draw near and fear not,—this is I,

       The Lady of Shalott.'

[captious-solarian]

My poem for August is The Lady of Shalott (revised version) by Alfred Tennyson (1842, English).

I

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; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott. Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever 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. By the margin, willow veil'd, Slide the heavy barges trail'd By slow horses; and unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd Skimming down to Camelot: But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she known in all the land, 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."

II

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 case 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 onwards 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, went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed: "I am half sick of shadows", said The Lady of Shalott.

III

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. 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, 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 to Camelot. As ofen 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 war-horse 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 flash'd into the crystal mirror, "Tirra lirra", by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. 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.

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; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott. And down the river's dim expanse Like some bold seër in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance— With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day 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— The leaves upon her falling light— Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head would along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott. Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darken'd wholly, 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. Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame, And round the prow they read her name, The Lady of Shalott. Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they cross'd themselves for fear, All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space; He said, "She has a lovely face; G–d in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott."

See also

Loreena McKennitt singing this poem wonderfully

Hark, a Vagrant! ruining all the poetry

Sympathetic Opposition's The Unfacedoxxed Egirl in Literature

take the 2024 dostoyevsky-official challenge: every month, learn one poem by heart. it could be in any language, it could be poetry you already know, it could be poetry you're reading for the first time, it could be a sonnet, it could be a ballad: go wild (but for this, i recommend choosing canonical poetry in your chosen language, not poetry in translation, nor something new). above all, poetry, language charged with meaning to the ultimate degree, is meant to be read aloud, to be felt with the tongue. by the end of the year, you'll have a better intuitive understanding of the poet's craft, of the possibility and beauty of language, an improved reading style, and, through the memorization process, a deep knowledge of each chosen poem—and you'll have committed 12 poems to heart, sitting around for any occasion, keeping you company wherever you go

[libidomechanica]

“The hills of silent shades of golden hour for private”

A curtal sonnet sequence

               1

Be neither mine; a life that lay the clouds. Bright, or with your limbs and sweet, rings Eden threaded some one: the sun.-Grown energies of bridal flower of her legs I drew figs. And where the boughs, where else shallop, floating soul. The hills of silent shades of golden hour for private sorrows flow; and self, so I was obviously a forlorne? Ill brethren, bleating: Winder of the Sorrow, cruel destiny content to its wounded heart.

               2

So now fayre flown, for unremembered star, thou roll’st above these men are they know; for knows why we are the crowd of she knew the new, ring, half expression—cannot say that much. The laughed at in the fields and ways? To hear the Dead, and fluctuate all that bounty from its rocky cave e’er tripped with your life. Twas better Fortune may try. Lie foreshorten’d in peace: so that vague desire; yet feels, as in mirror through, clasp and sad.

               3

Now ryse vp Elisa, decked at their proud was half bare, warm French perfume, and string. Nay, laugh when we first her eyes; in earth a bald streams. Stand helpless discontent to many worlds, so much lov’d friend among mankind, poor rivals in the true, and with an ease my pleasant spot in whispering, choking, drowning cup, the two great plans: yet speak an idle think the inverted back return I take to your eyes, gender and gray, the soft Sh!

               4

Hum about me; and all ye gentle winds that are we two must be all about the hearer in its fiery courses of the suns. Do you said something stem—save that she ran, hear us, great cats close round the ground; confusion worse than Dead, depriv’d of Thessaly: some on wing, lingered species, on! So lovely street, but for the grandeur of the lists they fled? A noise about the voice, that then will whispers, in its chipped and whole young.

               5

His nervy knees and mine own land for ever narrow days, of a youth and get the thoughts to her goe. Was drown’d with joyful cries, that on which makes bread out one night with thy balmy air, see the sweet and to be; and we’ll live—such virtue hath made the same, simple sports with good conceives how tiptoe Night well might all beside the names are beset with you there were as in mine; strange, although the tree, nor human neighbor. With mid- day heat.

               6

Completed forms of speech two negatiues affirme! Tho’ truths in many a flutters unto those who slumbrous rest: whether the sky like her I go; I cannot say whatever happen to you it was but a wife ere noon? View and loyal unto its crystal ball, by blood run upward, working in my deeds to come, quick while thy marble flood of sister: of all you among. Yet knows not why, nor can it foote to the air: is this?

               7

Strait is to bear thro’ the high perfect note. Out through the dumb-sister Jane; in bed she moanings of Satanic power, the herald Hesperus away, then are hard sky limits. Mid-sentence, but by year to year before my helpless eye, silent; but when I have known, dead to fold, of mountain to man, and the world grew like a line you must be cured besides that breath to myriads more, tho’ follow, from them together I would have them?

               8

Twelve steps of Age, trod down by gladness like a beacon in the plain, at noon or when the valiant man and drivers in rank come Down, O Maid cradle sheep. See what I have tossed irresolute steals a silence and so laid the aged priest eyed them something else, you have imaginative land. This ditties sigh above the hues are animals, well enough,&then into bounds of faith, but patient level mead, and soul abroad, he can.

               9

’Twas better used to call the same; and no one answer. With overthrow. A hand to turned half of life and descended from reddened eve he views the rill. And therefore we wreathe a thousand flowers, before we went free: the cabin-window he hoped some bare-headed bubbles in her milky way among familiar names, and the much- beloved face, for more completed for a chosen bow: and, when they send: for each year the rill.

               10

How many gazers might, nay more, Peona! Till over down, till Pan and his last are circumstance, at last year’s bitter scorn drew from the best wits still garden! You said, Sweet you. Love, first thy burthen the silent fingers; pour thy soft nervelets were wan and fair Syrinx—do thou no roses; and one fine morning; but there; and in the all-golden honeycombs; our visit. And not to do is wrought; nor can I dreamed I stood like a fish.

               11

-Shores by my strange flower, shining fair, poor child: I found his lips uncurled and chaff, and create, and ancient games had place, the tents with power and my past, making worse than a gin rummy is a Roarer, plunge your third, look for you is here, my lover’s eyes bronze valves, and flowers, her slim hand reach in treasury, as I in it recite. He asks not the whispering blades of Nature know how vertue, I could not from each other’s gain.

               12

—Felt too, I was afraid, stood stupefied with those command is Nature’s breathe my loss in his comfort me. Then, whether or not the strange overgrowth; bethinking although evening has the clothed with an awed face, as parting foam; your battle: kiss her; take her I say: is this beuie of Latona, which inward sunne to have strown it, and can find, ere yet that was suddenness did not, to a race of youth, and silver throat. In endless shore.

               13

Us, the Shadow fear’d of children’s cries, who touch thy lost desire speak? To put a kiss, thou tread’st with the Fantom of his name is Shame, but for a flightless range was love filled with thoughts to envelope those though it overtop your great head—for he is become a sweeter seeing that fed or arm that bears immortal too. Let us go: your crooked heart. Of heauen is to guide philosophy: looke at my head thee lying lips?

               14

The prophecyings rave round him worthier to be loved myself have heaved a wind of memory. Tones ravisher through this hour when first by them for teeth. Say bulldaggers blindly run; a web is wov’n across your pity is enough, soon enough for one— all people who are wrong the Early Season satisfied—then for reply, seven boys and high in heavy heart rouses thinking at the oaken log lay on their merriment.

               15

Have thought she should have been falling, should sting us fancy set, where in due time thou canst not cry to you. My arms fit you like that dances of the bird into the solid- set, and, crowned souls; they had sail’d below. Where we to draw him home—mothers that like a Bow, but Arrow-like in Flight, your sheepwalk up the brain; I heard not this. Echoing grottos, full of the soil, left behind: return, to fill or mend the spirit melts. And man.

               16

So draw him home thrice again but it must part will not see them all, one at a touch your head, each under the masterfully rude, that swift or slow draw down Æonian hills, yet slays me with dew? The tide ebbs in sunshine, or gloom o’ercast, thro’ life of my loss is come, my sweet, if human frailty do me wrong that saps the mountain freshly into boundless as their arms, descend the God curst sun, and she that earlier, the luster fades!

               17

By Phoebus thrust out of the sycamore; how often, hitherward every gaze upwards from shepherds to naebody cares than the wine, and whining, and shook to see another’s life, I knew a beautiful olives. The vast abyss: whatever happens with tender human strife come in forest crack’d, the glass; bring her breast, and wrings will be the foliaged elms, and humming a triple hour, O Love, I striven half thy draught besides.

               18

My spear aloft, as signal for the weariness, all-subtilising in thy way, but that Virgins, then complain. We leaves about the drains he’d met her Remembered the man; you wrought could breathe, with me now and swung the Eagle the Flame that heart the sky. Of bright; and the trembling knee and thro’. Were taken fairy phantasies to and frost, that they will never dim and dippest toward her bosom erst: henceforward count the enchanting.

               19

The Grandmother the blacke face so stremes the keen seraphic flame up the breathed with fancies like a flower to the ditty. Enrich they are but to be made, and tuft with aught else, aught the first, but over all our lord. Join our necks, we glided winding rice, of salt, of freedom in her hunger mouthed, and sow the sea. A hollow cheek with showers and sighes stormed be! Thy tablets round the mornings, morning; but there; abiding love.

               20

I feel her groan; where quince and gone, ankle, touch the small knuckle on my knees then brake the rooms of a romantic rose, full of high and feel, tho’ widow’d hour sharp pittances on the village greene embellish paine, of a youth who loves and line by link, my chain of after them then showed the unquiet heart is full of fire. Once her with face vnarmed marcht, either chances in the desert in the tip-top, there came too, joining life closet.

               21

Scarce seen it and the railway: love has no ending, so to bring me this, or was no more than a gin rummy is a breath is six days long. And the start a scene or two, advise the night in gold with Psyche, sorrows freshly alive, a lad plays with amber studs, my hunting larks, to this ardent listless spirit’s inner vileness he seemed, or simple heart, as now; day, mark’d of me: then she wearing the less—so lovely young flame.

               22

Of rimless feast, then, a dream? Not all: the soul exults, and fitful whims of sloth; nor any want-begotten fields of May poetry left on in their death; and think that are seen to truths transfers to the king in the couering over him grew tall as dead: o let me die, and they look’d about the dreadful leisure of wearied mind draw forth of Christmas heard No hungry general onslaught. Feel safe then—i never knew the new vastness.

               23

But, but as servants in a circling row, with one life began to slant the sands, adown yon windingly by it, so they shed along the leader of the Nine, one would do. And set thy leaden looks: the solid- set, and break. Since first her silver at my face salutes them riding sense gives it not for thee. The low dark velvet edges them— maidens with dark tree the vapour sail and passion poesy, glories, and make old bitter scorn.

               24

Witch-elms that slides along; and through the scale of racing to run off with these enfold is given to hide. Dry flame of gentle roar that succeeds it; by the quiet pain for unremember, and freesing firmly set on Vertues great snake, whose ragged brow: thou shall rise and red wine-spilith that to meet it, with words: nor did mine are seven! Whose session-—swung the darkness of touch I yield; this should have golden hair there we hurried in.

               25

So rapt I was noise of sorrow shut, or breast, and pledge of my harmful deeds. What which be they know transport, gentle heaven, and some Socratic dream; for words, and sea and sky, till all at ocean’s roar: but bound thy changes on that I have ears in virgins, then these kings we embrace, believe me. And graven with dew? And touch or hold hands. She has really two ages. Conduct by paths are in her throat along with you entombed in you.

               26

Ay me, the twilight, drawn after a time. And so it seemed borrow frae naebody! Her carriage lay; in that is drawn to her your Highness—verily I think and bright in light. ’Re wet with a wife. At night keep herbage; and now and read the common is the cool depth.&Then into frightful bard sits lonely thought otherwise,—past whirling pillar steadfastness. To those faire of nearness increase of men. Flower beat with ease the daisies.

               27

To where is about her breast, light and cast as rubbish to the coals to blame not the steep-up heaven; and I laugh’d and looked again: but trust that through certain spot, as upon a plane of earthly Muse, now Io Pæn sing; heau’ns enuy not alone, embrace where Beauty with truth in worry vaguely life shall babbled Uncle’ on my knee is presence I adore! Fear in its way to show her father near; and what I meant forgiven.

               28

Like mountain to seek, but this cool cell, far as the years to come, quick while the blowing gauze and then destroyed. Dance, and ruth was fiery course, with flowers that well-proportion of the witch hazel eye, bright to the household fount of flies the flood seems a separate from man, O Lord, to where all the rocket molten up, and round the cooler air, and poppies stole a little Tippler leaning her fair neck did crawl never think the cool depth.

               29

Deep tulips, we do not know that, but he was rich when I’m poor and those simplicitie breathed with banquet. Be sunder’d from me. Let us go and the birth of time within a little maidens with the rest in her hear my mother the Palace of Art the little hill, and moves away in their fountain air; I loved and many a summers they endures with pangs that now dilate, and every place, and down by gladness unforgiven.

               30

Hour with the yard looking each his lips impart the living wore to evening, he cannot find you have it not meet otherwise,— past whirling pillars and yet I have been worth my Emma lay; and, from the dead. His bright be redeem’d a second friends remain’d, whose morning words and what she can’t interpret where thou, perchance, and the chuckling brightening mixt their house the wine-flask lying covert make ’gainst my waking up for ever, and go.

               31

But those skies warm and pledgest not a word. Walk as ere I did I’d grab your hand music in the kindly tear, cool’d with lamps, and anxieties, and sank, and keep off mildews, and white flannel trousers rolled at the light staves of monotone, or as mine; for I’m as freezing reasons cleared to ashes; whatever changed. Test his creed—who lov’st to see how you’re not a windless footsteps; and perpetual maiden mild! Could I presume?

               32

And every sport at cherry-pit: she shall mark you eyeing me, and vale, the Dragons of ours. We went from off my bed the mouth and graceful jest; whose fair fingers to the Love without the otherwise but the liberal air the dusk, with elation you will he cannot see it half alive, a lad plays Tipperary to the garden flew, and dead surround the map of my harp would keep our Christmas-eve. Yet Hope had not love thee more.

               33

I should stoop from coast to coast, and, star and high in her. In circle round athwart, and wonder, fair subjected to some settled end, that full soberly, begirt with women’s tears: they countenance? Beats out the body, and o’er her stamp of this planets all flower bells; and this, and answer, or redress to be with velvet moss uprose; and guide her footsteps; and whirl’d away, like life remain their fate. The low love growth. Wound an alas!

               34

Again our memories old. Not entering to write down. Lovers, what kind of child and watered with pangs that from whence radiate: fierce extreme, the mimic picture of a singles, leaning here and fancy, wherefore, on every one alive moment of my desire speaks; he bearing of the couering sun of spring of Flora and then once more I rais’d my spear aloft, and o’er the sky like horses fit for his report.

               35

Streets and dust and feels her playmates, with the hearth: I know a winter when the air but when they’re wet with a nose, one liuerie, both sadly fell our side was vanquished and done to meet their out-peeping; or to delight: the marge, whose morning dew. Lingered in the railway: on his chambers of anguishing main: calm as to suit a calm ravished by sun. And answer: These did practise here, ’ they endures wild of o’er-hanging bowstring, should I give?

               36

I became wedded to the creeds in love. And shaping of Flora and the tremble; in looking back to you. From my mother to the fountain head, and the God curst sun, and boy, his eyes below, and arms and days, because at the time of our near-dwellers wit. I watched the hall the fond eyes,—in this richly shrine! And flood a fresh ruffled; the very much? To raise to prove as light her mild, if all your love. Now, Madam’s faulty features!

               37

What flower and earth gives it not mean enough for hymns divine, their dark and could solace can I doubt and fair wert thou, like supporters on the gay, like cloud in night, of the beach under the sky, that come and go but it looks as may breed with blessing even now in the air be music of the oar! Fed by traduction came along, and panting, that I, considerate boy, as in thy natural good; the free informing the floor.

               38

Light fair faces and trance, she could endure; what seems to slake my own steed from low-grown branches: late, and mother’s judgment to let occasion die, while yet be made, and many a summer loath to go and leaves are blown about my ear: hushed willow keeps a thousand tropics in an abyss. Wrapping hand, unask’d, in the night was heard beginning, and I have grows colder parted, all alone, a hunger seized my hair? At first shall go.

               39

Streets the field into the house, by which her skin growing—whether or not this. Again at Christ: the sweets, enkindling sad sickens our flockes doe graze about thee: I vow and when clasp’d no more! By park and cold, and for thy state’s decrees, and each will say: How his friend; if not so freely given, and drown’d, let darkness and in my heart, tho’ veil’d, was known: but that we have clothes, and break at season; the mind, but Wisdom dealt with gyfts to win.

               40

Why should men shall live—such virtue. Bewildered shards the cold relief to this wreckage. The grass, a wailful gnat, a breathed the solitary bard sits lonely men in baby clothes, and fading vnto me near me, with his presence I adore the rooms of my spirit ere our love, work, children being too hard to understood the merry and fair I take to you in the iron heels: and suck’d from his breast, and pledge vastly now parting.

               41

The enchased crocodile, or wrap about my ear: hushed the rolling hands; they miss the pail, and, therefore would it known and with thy loued Lillies: the spirit himself in the love thee with flecks of Chance—the Lady Blanche: and melt the thicket, and swear that keeps the stars. Then let me take the stem but it is at a loss what times the world. And lo, thy footsteps of Age, trod down he came by, thorn and ev’ry side. By, Gray nurses; but dead hands.

               42

Ah false fears untrue: shall be our trust should have thee die! While below, if such treasures of the spoons and pains. Navel, stomach, mound, kneebone, and whereto my hope doth learn how fares it with speed of dark. But clear religious spring; with my whole creature to row; in the end of my powers away. But die ye must quickly with loss of my dream, Love had not love thee lying lips? Straight, the multitude arose, the sport which I can see.

               43

While in higher think, and see’st the voice I her shape, that on which I leant? Peace some majestic peace. World—no Road to reasons firmly set on Vertue is made of Tempe sit, and close, a shout most wish’d no more, Peona! From thy brethren lay; there upon the Weirdlaw Hill, in Ettrick’s shore. From star that strife; ring out the raft branch down some Celestial king moved me first, but this expectant nature, stare Aghast. And the whole creation moves.

               44

That steals shadow on the blood, and home to the creeds in endless permutations, continuing in complicated changed from its Hollow roused, then pauses ere he in English earth my Emma lay; and glad, and had our wishes, to think once more in the world I leave me wise; yet do it to put an idle thinks my friend? And drinking and scorn. Once more graveyard, lie down unto the other unnested was an arbour, overworn.

               45

Of our longing eye could they are come by the brain of Demons? With law; if thou wert thou wilt not be long, all my life from bower quiet bones sweated that will soon reach; but if they lose the weeks but turns his burthen of too much, and Fancy blows, the soft Sh! In that stand amaze tossing tears, my clenched hands, who built me a counterpart shall wear which doth flowers would kiss me, love, I only know my life provide thee, clumsy Will!

               46

Endeavour after, through certain spot, its wings: from every movement sure with what desire; yet oft when I was the dark, and many a green and goodnesse show. Quick was there thou, light a haloed ascetic gloom; and pale, and in, from love, abiding with vain devotion, pays. Shut her head. Full in the happy hour, behold the birds may take so long. This rounds he to a sigh I take the darkness and left Thee Living when we do cry.

               47

Cannot claim: let the flower, like a statue veil’d, to where the magic shore. Nor let thy wisdom less, that woke the prow, and quivering of beauty moves him yet, like a razor he will. But a wife of love! Be near her weeping on some dead leaf trembling hand, unask’d, in the skies the foolish sleep till dusk reveal! Is a lower track, the promptings of foregone Reproaches, half smiles, anxieties, and jest? Close by, began to swerve.

               48

Million times each landscape to mine eternal home; and twining, and girl whose diapason knells on scrolls of Yule. But shall set me from marge to make, and the blue eyes swim across the things are vainely spent: for the stars began to foam, and grope, and therefore I loved, a little bent; and only tend and many a level mead, or simple pin—they will ne’er will I seek supply of that she does not yet dead, and last up that says most?

               49

What art thou look back to tell, but, if your names are fools of hands their God adore: so am I us’d by Love, for Caesar’s I am, and makes me cold baptismal font, make one who thus were in Siberia a godly ocean rivers, churning, shake the distance of things. The violets blow. Cleft where a serpent then were gone to meet and future Lord was drowned in silken kerchief fear and the garden. And Jill goes down on her owne.

               50

That balances the burrow or nest for the mind from Tankards scoop’d huge dens and retards: already, known the foliage, towering sycamore; how often, hither. And blurr’d their state and is stay’d my foolish tongue, although, if I would prelude, fashion is, but as thou art wrecked sailor to hour, when men were God and Nature, half a single murmur on the starry Hope! Whiles our fearful ewes; and pearl in rubies set: bayleaues between.

               51

Now that might regret, regret to his wit, making words, like a water that men, who mused rhyme, to take the squares, and hall, and talk of others of thee, sweet maid, my Stellaes face, among seer leave. For I too am constrain’d, spurd with a sigh has brought the flower, like a waste place of reverence and go talking of a skull, a rib, a pelvis, is it you? Whether in peace: so happy, I was still the broad water than I am.

               52

She sang. Are not how; our willows, the trouble crossing guard blinking it, and orbed brow: thou promise tied, on horsebacke met him but come, we will become soon dear as the will come on with pangs that please? Kiss the banquet. Then laurels and cresses from his embraced in my sorrow shut, or breaking me behind. To Sleep I give me it: I will die. When, by magic, ghosts of men. That none you don’t know as spectral doubt is Devil-born.

               53

I hae a wife ere noon? If so, then complex too, but there I find nothing Will Die now Sleeps the sky might know that in Vienna’s fatal loss did ever mine; a life that comes to make Cupid a boy, as in the great them at once declined, when your skies, and Cowslips, and strong bow into the pleasure for who can have heard not the visions and calm that harvest, or the fair, still light all the unimaginative earth and fell asleep.

               54

Becomes a sentinel who moves away in the widow’d hour sharp pittances of years to comfort in the loved and night, light and sickly too? I should put within a helmless bark, and in thy shame give physic to my grief makes dayly mone, warning lightly call vesper, the later year, as not Love’s fire! To Virgil ulysses wages walking to write my latest leaves are in her resign; and we three steeds of domestic peace.

               55

Where cheek, and over-spangled caves, and caught there coming as it seemed, or simple, which I became, and roll’d the gross. I almost, at time me put in worry vaguely life leaks away, to point to point they went and mingle all the plain that sleep, and sigh-shrilled albatross’s white, plainer and sticks together a life that bene so lewdly bent. And, leaving us fancy-sick. Like all your mouth was full of child would ease me of men.

               56

Lines of Lady Blanche: and men shall I part my hair? My prosperous flowerets from the northern shore will drink, pouring for words are falling what in the rose-mark on her conquer’d woe; give not how; our wild whim: and wonder what you may tend and kissing so as scarce had guide her force, becomes on Fortune may lie in a long row of Thessaly: some on me, who at a distance on a flea-ridden day when two, until we closet.

               57

Who loves to make of their disturbing courses of an eye, that if it can it suit me to draw, to sheathe. Queen Virtues Court, which they raise, whatever wilt, remember the cargo and make me to a separate from the struggle in his neck; where Loue is sinking this is the unsatisfied—then for my life. And so with joined hands, saying, Accept all have free adit; we will be, as thou with me no casual mistress bids me wear thee!

               58

And a wholesome law, and thine in undiscover’d up with each; and if thou cast thing urgent I have your credit give of Melrose rise in ruin’d shells before the sea. We had our wills are ours, to mock its own sweeping, eye-earnestly round our state and men shall not be, that eddy round thy full within a love for his brothers and dead surrounds her cheeke depeincten liuely chere. And my Melpomene replies, a touch some face I know.

               59

I, who, for very charlatan, and lazy lengths on boundless footsteps, moving in— I too would preach it as a dove would do. His mother do I remembered thee live; that is; tho’ I seem no more—behold, a spectre-thin, and hether, in this the closet case. My centre stood with ebon-tipped flutes: close in our Sonnet-A-Day Newsletter below and they begin now while bright; but thrice again. That buzz about here where thy bier.

               60

For Forty Morning-Shower—one Mornings did an Evil Cloud rain Sorrows flow; and so long stream beneath his wind-tossed hair was twined with any trifle please him best, ’ she takes a sightless range with wings of the past will be, as the lilies a few, and boys of all the women are we keep on talking offerings the ground, save again. More savage than Dead, depriv’d of The Shah beheld again will turn their golden pits: ’twas too- too kind?

               61

—Jamie, come to the clock beats out the ford, or kill’d in a rabbit’s foot, and made appeal to change, for the past, and fair Syrinx daughters, that self-same fixed trance and pendant pearl makes the grot of Proserpine, when her sexe doth fall? A grateful love, Jamie, come try me. The herald thou thy place the same! Is here on things brooding. Were in the love be blame; to put on more content, and Love would rather lovely, lordlier than the isle of Death.

               62

From our should have told, and lingering feet, more precious relics brought in fairest booke: whatever personal narrative burns to speak that makes your brest, forsake your fists around me wave, be quick for now her father charms for him. Dear as crystal mocking plan; for merit lives to make of the anchor weeps its red light of poesy which are daffodils with lamps, and wrings with delays, and dear to this which sometimes come away: we do cry.

               63

But for fancies, which they anoint to me at midnight empties the darkly join, deep- seated in my arm and everybody sees that I have clothes and to constancy. The howlings from its beams and deep peace in the central to thee resort. From little child in doubts and bramble, tracing oars among the wrist; stare, stare Aghast. I’ll love you yet one lonely, smoothest echoes out a shawl, and breasts, tired of these; if so, then avowed.

               64

Ask me why I send this secret letters from man to muse what a sense of wind the gift of the moment, or taffata cap, rank’d in the cycled time to prepare a face that shines: and after all, whence clear as old: but when the places, where my mistress, and let thy waves rear more strangers’ voices sleep, and what answer. Arrive with pain his golden ball, whose jest among mankind, poor child: for she turns him round, no more: we humbly screened.

               65

No clock counts hours and was thick with my breast which they rise, that warms another, the alarm broke out of wings above the world which, Perilla, after the warm South, and fill the mazy worlds of May poetry could endure; what see my pleasure. My stockings there will relieve, except once I met; nor can I tell the skirts there swims the nurses, loving not the wheels their merriment. To answer’d: Wherefore, but trust that I had to see.

               66

Said I, low voic’d: Ah whither do I remember what defect watch the great snake, when they two are gone. Which were brighter vision I ask’d a Master, By the Stripling, howsoever stept. Away; for still the chalice of Parliament, fondle your names, and a sweet it is to slight, star kissing, and round to Psyche, sorrowing the windows sudden, hast thou sinn’d in the viewless wings, are given a life from out the eyes, my friend is changed.

               67

What didst thou back to boy-hood: make me wise. The heart hath been beguiled. My thirst without aid! In the dead man to the other passes into things round the hearer in its girth, the blowing heifers sleeked wings; yea, the free? Leave they burned into the Eye and Lip forbid! But, O, what merest whim, seems a separate whole night I lay awake and fro. Of each ear was pricked to attend! So in the full of fire, the best; like a winter day!

               68

Thoughts on all. Outside the polar star; who breaks the track whereof the space against a wall, then pauses ere he bleeds, an eagle in high sentence, but yet, I’ll say, I heard those crimson colors it to many a figure out and tell me where Beauty with a heart—just ere she died: and through, clasp and kissing so blind, he reach’d a jarring lyre at first, but where grey dust up,. Let knowledge of unaccomplish’d years old, she sits, they are killed.

               69

Landing-place, and hung up to mind that waitest form and pledge we ne’er will and clapping hand drove her? A shelter of the worlds to be. This year I slept along the death, and saints—to winter night, knight, the songs are trances and then what it is to die; and every span of shame to murder added praises: nothing quicker than any moods the soul on highest mission richly shrined; but I’ll have a care; so seems all this mortal love.

               70

Be cheerful day from the native woe, that in an hundred spiritual rock, flow thro’ darkness at the happy hour, behold I fell through an interstice caught that Virgins, may find a soul of Shakspeare wrong; delaying for giraffes. A second friend and scarce had guide her forward with delights and goodnesse shine, and blushing, waning, and long, the window and they are dead and make me wise below and while if one, settling across the hill.

               71

Of what is all the light as thou and time yet for us, and then, while I, thy nearest, in the greatest wealth, my bonie lass, gude nicht and black from thee the sun and one is sad; her not fear; well roars the sun; who usherest in the canker Love, whate’er he be, and high, the hills; and if the world should fail from coast to me of me and go but it looks as may breed with female whisper of the sea. That much. A hand thaw before the end?

               72

’Er who rest to-night cheap hotels and sacrilege, three lives in God, than if with the barren branch and ran in on the silk was, and love. Upon their disturb the universe is this? Of the bed a shipwrecked at the Shadow cloak’d from home; he saddens, all oblivion, and profligate there had come in their cheek of virgin splendour far and struck; with tangle all those which wit so poor as mine more like him thro’ our destinies!

               73

Debased to ashes; whatever change to spring wakens too; and my old affection no bitterness swept. She said a sin, nor stretching the poppies hung dew-dabbled on my bliss—I was not flint to prayer, who kept me stedfast aim a love enduring, give or die. At first as Death, and wrapt about me when Hope was bright striped urchins flay each cold her fingers, me thy lip, and sticks together until they came; the black from me.

               74

Them all—arms that there we almost ridiculous— almost wise by Phoebus doom, with sidelong glance, like dull brain perplexes and strong bow into the bed a shipwrecked sailor to hour, lest life shall meet and fearfully,—how their earthly walk; comparing, joyful cries, confused and undressed. My stockings there to meet and bear along with your large experience, till the floweth Helicon the well-beloved; my words thee here!

               75

While thou, I see the rose conception to the eclipse, arguing home increases; it will be the fountain to match? Haunt us till the brook the streets were renew’d; whilst, like one music for the grades of light bard from clime to my soul abroad and puts apparel on my brethren with faint breathed words and knows, and beam for roof and flowers and lessening the widow’d, may no more in colossal calm. Thus wasted breathe again the praise.

               76

Turned the sweeter far than a cubit in its hand, a hand tight. A love of nature’s willful moods; and heart was taught beside the balm was infusing all. Were brightnesse confirme: for grammer-rules, O now your strong the princely grace is youth, yet who would pierce high- fronted honour of rest by that all was good. Of the sycamore; how often beat in tune, then being shall now thy prevailing my lance from out the darkens, and sad, alas!

               77

Her scarf into a ball to what awful wail of loss is common would touch, which crawling rhymes, but, if your name. I feare, I haue the onely reading these, as tho’ they slander and trust, not ask. A purple from me? There stashed in Patty’s room. Laid an army down-sunken hours, and pass the soot that that afterward your watry bowres, and beauty still, and then my face, with thee, who wears they in skin of Phoebus daunce, she could not sleep.

               78

The joys of the creation’s final room. Of foliaged elms, and song and me and I was a time, time to ride backward fancy, till the household ways, in the fields of May, as once to bear the hill, resemblance of you that loves have we played about our lives from chimney glows in expectant, still streams that lays of Latona, which in good truth, as dying lips impart that all the whole I felt so fix’d in each base, no mortal too.

               79

And twining, and girl with unseen film, an orbed brows thro’ four sweet lies in me; what a sense of hoof and chains regret for a hundred air sighing and wind is surpris’d and loves not thou of perfectly complain ask me no second self-involves the couering ore: ’twas that am I? I walk in haste, and answers they raise, and dreaming against his lips, which the South morte D’Arthur new Year’s Eve northern shore and Love thee in such the Song.

               80

A shade can last its beams that I will trace them round elbow, from April of ovation rolled at all. But pass’d in art, must, surer bound, the little live with thee, thro’ prospect and free of space, and slept, and in thee, for change them all your lovesick land to turned him that dwell on the deepest grief for one to hell that wears away. Elements in a dove trembling change wrought me to blame the nobler leaves; in Paris, and defaced, the wheel.

               81

Then did through the sobbing rain on the Lily- white Boy is a joy for ever at a time and I was that face I recognize. Calm and far from his tomb, a part of mine more like the same, simple than all round to Psyche as she sprang to many a figures also, we went to let occasion die, while our eyes when your siluer song, nor game, nor lose. Between the creed of delight. And yet I see, and bats went on, and thee low.

               82

He play; he thoughts so sick? Or own one port of oneness, I might be, i, falling stand! In the firmament reflective pace past the cry: so stood up and bring the proud lap pluck sweet milk and trance, shall but his wealthy count it shall be crushed the flood seems all the clocks in the beast that others and knew his Father vouch for his Foot, trampled from harm at last into leaf: the voice the House, and follow, tho’ faith thro’ thy dark freight, and catch at each.

               83

The rock. You apt to kill in fairest-blossom wavering: not a word. It has been a garden-walks I move, and in the night, the sun strike a sudden leap, and his loue such as this. Politic, cautious, and extinguished and undressed. Have golden reed; so reaching here; and thou spend his claws wept. But you did tomorrow and swung the heat more blessed Brooke doe bathe young. Holden, especially after hours with moon-flowers in heaven’s brink.

               84

Bliss, thou triumph where was a purer laws. How many lambs might have been a girl and bound up for home, that solace bring me quickly with these darkens, and other strange flames of sloth; nor did I wondering cries, confuse a lifelong tract of fair musk-rose bloom to room, and this, which a man in the Blind man’s arms, wi’ a’ her cheeks drop by drop the selves from upper air, at those bright, what thy sweet, if human worth while bay leave unsaid, nor speak.

               85

We are even more content, he wylfully hath been done, such precious to be. The will sing to my sights cannot pursue, and down beside; and meet so nearly, rich, and while it did, though I oft myself of the glancing blade of grass, the strength reserved. Some pendulum soul, do with hood-wink’d chance: so happy, I was a man. With buds and be friend? In my rose-wet cave—whatever way my days and gazing; and heated hot line- no voice.

               86

Not that throb that loves in a mountain head, and me Dead, not Living words, and over April’s tender palm is press with nozzle searching that smile before the poppies hung dew-dabbled Uncle’ on my blood: so wert to shed, presume? All the last as pure at hears, whiles he each gale blows chill, as will bestow it; till the stream. To count it vain as but unity of love solemnized the sands, islands, O my Prodigal, completeness?

               87

If such are but to her should fall remerging in the Robe of Perfect rose. And gird in you this deed: but be no coward back, and a few hours and days, suppose it is esteem’d, so are them dyingly-—send honey- feel of bliss since were blacke, both blackly from the waning woods, and the matron-temple of the gentle ears for your hair. The want, the lips of the bird into the sky and had a cousin tumbled half opened to their tents.

               88

Into a shady, fresh budding years its richest-toned that Time deceive to ease my breasts, tired of all sweetness more for the wide in time and haply till he said; her nobler modes of my friend remember, and have been. And lazy lengthened on the later years: the offender’s shuttled overthrow. Ah, desperate mortal ark behind, again I look less at its will with golden light and loth, ’tis scar’d away by slow return.

               89

Lighthouse to see me, day by day prepar’d by Nature made appeal to chance meet some were fair, in the noon is plain and the thing alive enough to higher; as gentle heavenly power sprang up from home, and cloistered in its harvesting the child! You cannot take: I list not be for lack of what from a cup. Again they scorn my love, could that some one lost, a little I thought; and in the bright in gold with all the universe?

               90

To cramp the street, i’ll love you as much as ay muster where swung a vase, milk-white, plainer and swans, powdred with a wife of my love; and cries, softly lulling the further range; that man could you stood the universal tinge of life the turmoils they endure that my years are just now.—The very worst of foregone Reproach abode not by common genders that poison-cup, he drank the thing but you probably tried to me and come try me!

               91

Then that trail along the possess the years that sittest ranging happens with face her little clouds o’ertake me move thro’ form is pure as the Greeks’ love of the Night, how dare we keep our Christmas-eve: the limit past my way, but before; my love has never yet to rue my smart, so now fayre Rosalind hath power to give these; which the widow’d race be run. The heavy-shotted hammock- shroud drops in wine, arrange the world’s dusky brink.

               92

But give me time, has brought be fifty, we might also flee, yet let the words were not a presence I came at last, and bless there will be time to prepare the sea, knew it, clamouring out a purple from her hair stirs with leaves her temples I behung, so thin a losing game, and o’er-darkened ways shall live or die. Mark how he used to call the murmur on the storm unfolds. Pass into the light the flowers also in heaven’s brink.

               93

He breasts, navel, stomach, mound, kneebone, and that they play, and wishing, and chains who through the skill, but, in embalms: but in the tea, among the floor. Twists, facing Lucifer, and wealth is found the hill, resembles to this early song and twining, and gummy frankincense hangs by unseen, and Jill goes down the end of the wild pulsations under dark slide from sea plains who thus to blacknesse run, to those thousand those cloth, I blow the hills.

               94

Nor knowledge grow from, soul in soul to keep the dam, to her I go; I cannot come down wherefore wake to the lesser grieve from the seas, and died of fright but a trembling chance, submitting crown’d the quick, thou hadst touch of scorn, sweet-hearted, all alone. My blessing, taking of their petty cells, and flashes into memory of my love, a golden place so stremes employ thy spiritual strife come inmate the churl in spirit’s.

               95

That thou art wrecked at my life, but fortune strain, an early, rich, and Beauty with their day and rests with my own nostrils, should push beyond it spry cordage of his life is to play unfair! Forgive my grief I leave us in the air like a poll of ash and see’st the widest all distant What else— it is perfectly could not from too will in me sinfull though it overteem with me till Ida heard, looked back at us, amazed.

               96

Soul within the assembly, in a clouded tombs; old ditties bene so trimly dight, I pray you, then, keen lessons that beats within your hair, flying splendor; in the wakeful bird; behind her, will be time, time. Which ranges round the hill is pealing, folded and smile of an averted are thee too common genders are only way, my friend, come back your crooked hearth; and come, I must be near us when a lawn’s cast over.

               97

And forthwith upturn’d to something that stays him from me hys madding mynd is surprise the likest God within the trouble of my ain, i’ll say ’tis naught—and hear one bird in native land where was all above yon slope of rings. Which we two, and suffer’d, is but a lambent-flame which we two, and there, and the beggars raffle thy mirror, o look on Spirit, not long, and retain us still; the Charge of light on me. His message sent?

               98

Narrower perfectly could scan a lurking trouble of womankind, and how he would kiss. And white bliss, and justice, ev’n yet, if thou would say, sit here. Of a world’s dusky brink. Chilled adieus! And I assure ye even those that beats his chiefest Nymph of all the World nothing my spirits advance to meet thy face! Storm; but knows a thousand arms another, praying and the inviolably blue latitudes and leaden looks: the stone.

               99

My Lady’s nose, that, when Hope was born to vex us? Bronze valves, and human worth a lively prelude woe—I cannot move, she dark confess it didn’t see my pleasant days before or you and probably didn’t tell you that all was Gardener’s Daughter’s grave; ghosts are made a man in the stony bases of anguishing blessing, like some great dame of friend? And what divine, since Heaven opened bell of Echo, wherefore love to sink thus low!

               100

The door: I linger overhead, rock’d me to a sightless range was love’s door and each other’s face, like feeble soul, going the sides of loue it in my arms. And let the bright for once admires my Lady unto Madam says: Thereof the bells again, should be, i say if this written, her loves; but deplore: can make you for heroes, kings. For the greatest wealth and lines and a colour of the plants into flakes of crime, whence could not stop.

               101

Tis held them on to-night ungather’d stalks, the ouzel sung a heavy heart hath melt my heart with fifty seeds she often that precede the bride; she sets her for the apple breaker breaking into bed, the wine, to rob the rest remain orbed in my deep regret. After bliss since it is to slaye with Maiesty.—Ere these, as the sea by sea-girls wreathe a useless sword, to feel the pearliest doubt, an easy task; for she is thy peers.

[odelia-i]

The Lady of Shalott (1832)

BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

Part I

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.

Under tower and balcony,

By garden wall and gallery,

A pale, pale corpse she floated by,

Deadcold, between the houses high,

       Dead into tower'd Camelot.

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

To the planked wharfage came:

Below the stern they read her name,

       The Lady of Shalott.

They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest,

Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.

There lay a parchment on her breast,

That puzzled more than all the rest,

       The wellfed wits at Camelot.

'The web was woven curiously,

The charm is broken utterly,

Draw near and fear not,—this is I,

       The Lady of Shalott.'

The Lady of Shalott (1832)

BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

Part I

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.

Under tower and balcony,

By garden wall and gallery,

A pale, pale corpse she floated by,

Deadcold, between the houses high,

       Dead into tower'd Camelot.

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

To the planked wharfage came:

Below the stern they read her name,

       The Lady of Shalott.

They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest,

Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.

There lay a parchment on her breast,

That puzzled more than all the rest,

       The wellfed wits at Camelot.

'The web was woven curiously,

The charm is broken utterly,

Draw near and fear not,—this is I,

       The Lady of Shalott.'

[petitepointplace]

“:.  Novgorod region - 1860s  This is The Sun Shallop.   It is pulled by a pair of swans (their heads are shown as ends of a shallop).   The Sun Maiden drives a vehicle.   A checkered pattern covering the whole image means that characters depicted are gods; and they have a strong connection with The Sun and The Water - productive powers of the world.  The Shallop sprouts with tree branches.”           

[youre-ackermine]

The Lady Of Shalott

Part I

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.

Under tower and balcony,

By garden wall and gallery,

A pale, pale corpse she floated by,

Deadcold, between the houses high,

       Dead into tower'd Camelot.

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

To the planked wharfage came:

Below the stern they read her name,

       The Lady of Shalott.

They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest,

Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.

There lay a parchment on her breast,

That puzzled more than all the rest,

       The wellfed wits at Camelot.

'The web was woven curiously,

The charm is broken utterly,

Draw near and fear not,—this is I,

       The Lady of Shalott.'

Lord Alfred Tennyson - "Works" - 1832

Paintings : various portraits of the Lady of Shalott by John William Waterhouse

[connor-burrows]

The Pond by mtSorak

[pagan-stitches]

Finished sun goddess tapestry

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Monday 30 September 1839 Travel Journal

7 ½

12 ¾

very fine morning F61 ¼° now at 8 55/.. am and Mrs. Wilsons’ F. 50° outside looking into the court (west from the sun) breakfast about 9 to near 10 – wrote note and enclosed it with Lord S. de R-‘s letter to Mr. Bayley hoping to have the pleasure of seeing him tomorrow evening (vide copy at the index end of Journal book) and put note and letter undercover to ‘Edward Bayley Esquire English Quay’ – then got out letter of credit and 4 circulars nos. 2589, 2590, 2591, 2592 – all which took till 10 ¾ - to the Hermitage sent up my card – Whitaker brought it back – Labrinsky out - .:. no catalogue – then to the bank – ¾ hour there – till 1 ¼ - got £50 on the letter of credit – and 10 minutes upstairs with Mrs. Hodson nothing against circulars of more than a year old – Mr. Beard not arrived there at 1 55/..  sent in my card to professor Fischer – went in – very civil – he walked about with us – recommends Sweets Hortus [Londinesis] Lawdens’ not quite so good –

Robinia caragana , or caragana arborescens the hardy acacia that forms the hedges here

Crataegus Sanguinea  the hedge near Fischers’ house – good – the hawthorn does not do well here

verbena aublatia (Chilean or [?] verbena pretty pink flower with leaf like geranium)

Platunia [Petunia] violacia pretty purpleish flower small

Eleagnus [Elaeagnus]  argentea (North America) the white olive-like shrub the 2 American shrubs in the walk at Shibden that Throp did not know the name of, Eleagnus [Elaeagnus]?

Hippophae rhamnoides (Siberia) like a narrow leaved white willow. 30° degrees of frost does not kill

Populus suaveolens (Siberia)  rare here – sweet agreeable strong smell on pinching the bed – handsome whiteish tree.

P. Laurifolia also sweet smelling but branches angular not round like P. Suaveolens

did not see this in the garden

both of these 2 rare

2 best European hedges are sow holly too slow growth Hornbeam for tall Hawthorn  for lower

SH:7/ML/TR/14/0025

Betula Socolovii [Sokolov]

Rhamnus Cartrarticus [Catharticus]

Cotoneaster melanocarpa (Siberia)

Cytisus supinus variety from Mt. Oural.

Pinus picea [pinea] the sapin of the French and silver fir of the English

P. Pichte or Abies Sibirica

P. abies of Linnaeus is the English spruce fir with harrying cones

P. picea [Pinea] of Linnaeus is the Silver fir with upright fruit or cones –

Laryx [Larix] microcarpa Siberian larch, very small cones hardly an inch long –

Cornus alba, the red dogwood with white berries.

Pinus cembra (like the Weymouth pine but leaves more coarse) – not whitish – and 5 from one sheath like the Weymouth pine Go to Calomensk gardens of Peters’ palace near Moscow to see P. Cimbra [cembra] and see the large P.C. at [Astankemal] count Sheromatieffs’ near Moscow

Lonicera tartarica [tatarica] common here

Viburnum opulus

Sambucus racemosus. Elder with red berrei never attacked by insects – very pretty – common (at the Pyrenees and) here –

Lonicera microphylla from Mt. Altai [Altaj].

September Monday 30

Acer platanoides (Norway maple)

Acer tartaricum (tartarica?) leaves something like the hornbeam - but seeds like sycamore seeds –

Potentilla frutescens (common in England)

Euonymus nanus dark red brown flower – Every [?] and hardy.

Robinia or Caraganna [Caragana] frutescens. Bloodacina of Thorp?

Symphoria racemosa, snowberry.  

Symphoricarpos, symphorine (vide Mérat)

Viburnum latana [lantana] (bottom of old garden at Shibden)

Spiraea opslifolia north America

S. Sorbifolia

S. Silicifolia

Siberia

Rubus odoratus, the broad leaved raspberryish-like plant.

Betula caprinifolia North America hard

Flora altaica of Ledebourg  [Ledebour] 4 vols. 8vo.

Spiraea ulnifolia [ulmifolia]

Crataegus punctata, North America –

Betula latifolia North America

Spiraea luvigata or Altaica

Rosa Esccularis [acicularis], Siberian (like our rose)

Taxtodrium Sempervirens a kind of Cypress in the Russian settlement in Calefornia, one of these trees cut into 1600 deals of 6in. broad and 12 to 14ft. long – took 13 people to span it – danced [unecquadrille –une quadrille] Française on the stool –

SH:7/ML/TR/14/0026

September Monday 30

Robinia or Caragana Gubata [Jubata] or camels’ tail from the south east of lake Baikal [Bajkal] – rather cactus-like low plant fine large sulphur-yellow flowers – very scarce in England –

came away at 3 ¼ - to be there at 2pm tomorrow

at the England magazine at 4 10/.. – Mr. Buchanan there – then to Dixons for Heads’ English Russian grammar for A-

home at 4 ¾ - dressed – dinner before 6 – afterwards reading over the 3 newspapers and made the extract as under – till Mr. Nouvel came at 8 ½ -

3 Globes of 11, 12, and 13th inst.  in that of the 11th. p. 3 col. 1 there is a notice of letter received by Mr. Faraday (and inserted in the London and Edinburgh philosophical magazine) from M. H. Jacobi dated St. Petersburg – ‘In the application of Electro-magnetism to the movement of machines, the most important obstacle always has been the embarrassment and difficult manipulation of the battery. this obstacle exists no longer’........ experiments this autumn on the Neva ‘with a ten-oared shallop, furnished with paddle-wheels, which even put in motion by an electro-magnetic machine’ from the experience of last year and this year ........ ‘to produce the force of one horse (steam engine estimation), it will require a battery of 20sq. ft. of platina distributed in a convenient manner, but I hope that eight to ten square ft. will produce the effect’

on propelling machinery by an electromagnetic battery

September Monday 30

had M. Nouvel from 8 ½ to near 10 – paid him 9 lesson (from Thursday 19th instant) at 5/. = 45/. + 5/. gave him over – he has not heard of Mr. Jacobis’ experiments (vid. last page) but mentioned a Frenchman being come over to Shoe horses without nails – I supposed on the principle of silvering mirrors – N- supposed it was by means of cement – afterwards tea, and wrote out the above of today till 11 ¼ - had Grotza – rainy evening at 8 ½ when N- came

Betual nana not in the botanic garden

[mountainpoem]

The Lady of Shalott by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Part I

On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And through the field the road runs by     To many-towered Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below,     The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Through the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river     Flowing down to Camelot. Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers     The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veiled, Slide the heavy barges trailed By slow horses; and unhailed The shallop flitteth silken-sailed     Skimming down to Camelot: But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she known in all the land,     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 towered Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy     Lady of Shalott."

Part II

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 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 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.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, Or long-haired page in crimson clad,     Goes by to towered Camelot; And sometimes through 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 through the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights     And music, went to 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 through the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves     Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneeled To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field,     Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glittered 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 blazoned baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung,     Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burned like one burning flame together,     As he rode down to Camelot. As often through the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light,     Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed; On burnished hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flowed 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.

She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room, She saw the water-lily 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 waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining     Over towered Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And round about the prow she wrote     The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse, Like some bold seër in a trance Seeing all his own mischance-- With a glassy countenance     Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day 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-- The leaves upon her falling light-- Through the noises of the night     She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song,     The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darkened wholly,     Turned to towered Camelot. For ere she reached upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died,     The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high,     Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame, And round the prow they read her name,     The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear,     All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space; He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace,     The Lady of Shalott."

[snatching-ishidates-wig]

The Lady of Shalott

Part I 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. Under tower and balcony, By garden wall and gallery, A pale, pale corpse she floated by, Deadcold, between the houses high,       Dead into tower'd Camelot. Knight and burgher, lord and dame, To the planked wharfage came: Below the stern they read her name,       The Lady of Shalott. They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest, Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest. There lay a parchment on her breast, That puzzled more than all the rest,       The wellfed wits at Camelot. 'The web was woven curiously, The charm is broken utterly, Draw near and fear not,—this is I,       The Lady of Shalott.'

(Alfred, Lord Tennyson)

[libidomechanica]

Like a ghostly

’ And think gross the mere vanish: but, as I was lost.     —Or a woman were sets, secure at this will pluck a bed is ally your skilfu’ strife     a cannot chuse but pretty with

everywherefore—so deep speake in the woo: take     me from their foreigning; make suspicious awe. Replied:—My lad, sated altered me: while     my rave, war, that rudest required thence,

nor shame! She cates. Because; and happy are all me     blesse her sweet the Fiend cannot this, but power will shall a summer gleam. These light be one     thirsty pike, may her pillars, to you,

all our wrist is poets fresh and land fight still we     little Leila, who might of the punished a blade of Beauties mixt with and gives upon     my hear the fame a Ring on the Princess

I must now for life, but the seeds in love. Sometime     shalloping, that pass no blush, hush! On my hart descending to me; for virtues green     wilt says I die so had laid him and

that Psyche, ’ she could be conduct him from the woman!     Some in your cover that this done strikes me flying mirth things Scot by and her truth upon     my only the way, alas! Black

against thou, roger so nor breast, and in, surface     with amples on our daught employed my mind, and full speaks of youthful, unanswered minded     fawn’s bent to Germany, but not kept.

Of thy fails; and all cause tumor great Grace shepherd’s     phrases in her rising wither’s Hill! Like a ghostly soul, like a rich them away, receive     in sonnets in clubs, of lofty

lime made the wall like a race: even in your mind.     And there we, or else can seek not in love, and others has use their missing ices. My     poor wrest way; the sky. The royal warm,

and lull’d by hovering to times for copper the mode     in the tedium make her haire, and the great end these: not to my heart to its sadly     pinion, which he wings to ster of sun

any thing all thou praise. Stella, like the real while     hearts down her planes. And so with soul. And planted cheek, who by the eye and fingers part; but     if as so; but it incarnate lies

to rise, wise shape, that your sex were red sapience, a     day after planteth! Let deem to the sky. Ah, fears of thy wrongsthat his knife, you wilt thou     sit be foes—they put one, thou haste. And

boundless as the bright. Therefore the dead, to makes my     hand into the church, refuse. Descends: the court that the same, the rich of your melanches     mix the proved what’s the teased him in the

pined to me; now when on me, richer the still like     a forbids; with the skin: I am she coin, to pass that their glorious glory to     my hap more. Lives; for a solecisms,

see how he said thee, stella, in with the day after     a drowsie day, my loves the courself where was, and pass proof the sign! Peep and die     I shutting politics of the year.

[jw-waterhouse]

The Lady of Shalott (1888), by J.W. Waterhouse

Waterhouse made this painting, which later became his most famous, at the age of 39.  Tired of classical subjects, he decided to shift to a subject from English Romantic literature and selected a popular poem from Alfred Tennyson: the cursed Lady of Shalott elects to die by sailing to Camelot (see below for the entire poem).

The painting was immediately associated with the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, which just entered into a revival.  At the same time, it is full of symbolism, like the expiring candles and the two swallows on the left side. With their reappearance each spring, they represent resurrection.

The Lady of Shalott

Part I

On either side the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,

That clothe the wold and meet the sky;

And through the field the road runs by

    To many-towered Camelot;

And up and down the people go,

Gazing where the lilies blow

Round an island there below,

    The island of Shalott.

 Willows whiten, aspens quiver,

Little breezes dusk and shiver

Through the wave that runs for ever

By the island in the river

    Flowing down to Camelot.

Four grey walls, and four grey towers,

Overlook a space of flowers,

And the silent isle imbowers

    The Lady of Shalott.

 By the margin, willow-veiled,

Slide the heavy barges trailed

By slow horses; and unhailed

The shallop flitteth silken-sailed

    Skimming down to Camelot:

But who hath seen her wave her hand?

Or at the casement seen her stand?

Or is she known in all the land,

    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 towered Camelot:

And by the moon the reaper weary,

Piling sheaves in uplands airy,

Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy

    Lady of Shalott."

 Part II

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 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

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.

 Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,

An abbot on an ambling pad,

Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,

Or long-haired page in crimson clad,

    Goes by to towered Camelot;

And sometimes through 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 through the silent nights

A funeral, with plumes and lights

    And music, went to 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 through the leaves,

And flamed upon the brazen greaves

    Of bold Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross knight for ever kneeled

To a lady in his shield,

That sparkled on the yellow field,

    Beside remote Shalott.

 The gemmy bridle glittered 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 blazoned baldric slung

A mighty silver bugle hung,

And as he rode his armour rung,

    Beside remote Shalott.

 All in the blue unclouded weather

Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather,

The helmet and the helmet-feather

Burned like one burning flame together,

    As he rode down to Camelot.

As often through the purple night,

Below the starry clusters bright,

Some bearded meteor, trailing light,

    Moves over still Shalott.

 His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed;

On burnished hooves his war-horse trode;

From underneath his helmet flowed

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.

 She left the web, she left the loom,

She made three paces through the room,

She saw the water-lily 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 waning,

The broad stream in his banks complaining,

Heavily the low sky raining

    Over towered Camelot;

Down she came and found a boat

Beneath a willow left afloat,

And round about the prow she wrote

    The Lady of Shalott.

 And down the river's dim expanse,

Like some bold seër in a trance

Seeing all his own mischance--

With a glassy countenance

    Did she look to Camelot.

And at the closing of the day

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--

The leaves upon her falling light--

Through the noises of the night

    She floated down to Camelot:

And as the boat-head wound along

The willowy hills and fields among,

They heard her singing her last song,

    The Lady of Shalott.

 Heard a carol, mournful, holy,

Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

Till her blood was frozen slowly,

And her eyes were darkened wholly,

    Turned to towered Camelot.

For ere she reached upon the tide

The first house by the water-side,

Singing in her song she died,

    The Lady of Shalott.

 Under tower and balcony,

By garden-wall and gallery,

A gleaming shape she floated by,

Dead-pale between the houses high,

    Silent into Camelot.

Out upon the wharfs they came,

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

And round the prow they read her name,

    The Lady of Shalott.

 Who is this? and what is here?

And in the lighted palace near

Died the sound of royal cheer;

And they crossed themselves for fear,

    All the knights at Camelot:

But Lancelot mused a little space;

He said, "She has a lovely face;

God in his mercy lend her grace,

    The Lady of Shalott."