Beyond the path and river stands,
A tower seen from Camelot.
Where breezes fly, and lilies sigh,
The lonely Island of Shallot.
A lady sits, a lady sings,
Upon the tower night and day.
Within its womb, upon her loom,
She spins a web in color’s gay.
She weaves the fields of flower’s fair,
The sun, the sky, and all that grows.
Knights and brides, the moon and tides,
She weaves what in her mirror shows.
She would out her window set her gaze-
But for whisper’s warning she cannot.
Cursed when born, she weeps forlorn;
The Lady of Shallot.
Across the fields and water calm,
A knight appears in armor full.
To Camelot, rides Lancelot,
From he her gaze she cannot pull.
Her weavings come at once undone,
As the mirror starts to shake.
‘The curse’ thinks she, ‘O destiny’,
‘My fate to die for beauty’s sake.’
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