Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 1 of 2.djvu/89

 And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott."

she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.

And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year,