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.
[M]oving 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:
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.
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 nights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space; He said, “She has a lovely face; God in his mercy send her grace, The Lady of Shalott.”