Поэтический мир прерафаэлитов

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 seer 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.’

John William Waterhouse THE LADY OF SHALOTT. Oil on canvas. 1888 Tate, London

Джон Уильям Уотерхаус ЛЕДИ ШАЛОТТ. Холст, масло. 1888 Галерея Тейт, Лондон

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