martes, 29 de junio de 2010

The Lady of Shallot

This is a beautiful poem; a ballad by Lord Tennyson based on Arthurian leyends.

And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
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,
Out flew the web and floated wide-
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
"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,
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."
There too a paint by William Waterhouse, and ilustrate another part of the ballad

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance—
With 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

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