Page:Poems (IA poemstennalfr00tennrich).pdf/22

 The little isle is all inrailed With a rose-fence, and overtrailed With roses: by the marge unhailed The shallop flitteth silkensailed, Skimming down to Camelot. A pearlgarland winds her head: She leaneth on a velvet bed, Full royally apparellèd, The Lady of Shalott.

No time hath she to sport and play: A charmèd web she weaves alway. A curse is on her, if she stay Her weaving, either night or day, To look down to Camelot.