Поэтический мир прерафаэлитов

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,
ʽTirra 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