On either side the river lieLong fields of barley and of rye,That clothe the wold and meet the sky And through the field the road runs byTo many-towered Camelot And up and down the people go,Gazing where the lilies blowRound an island there below,The island of Shalott.Willows whiten, aspens quiver,Little breezes dusk and shiverThrough the wave that runs for everBy the island in the riverFlowing down to Camelot.Four grey walls, and four grey towers,Overlook a space of flowers,And the silent isle imbowersThe Lady of Shalott.By the margin, willow-veiled,Slide the heavy barges trailedBy slow horses and unhailedThe shallop flitteth silken-sailedSkimming down to Camelot:But who hath seen her wave her hand?Or at the casement seen her stand?Or is she known in all the land,The Lady of Shalott?Only reapers, reaping earlyIn among the bearded barley,Hear a song that echoes cheerlyFrom the river winding clearly,Down to towered Camelot:And by the moon the reaper weary,Piling sheaves in uplands airy,Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairyLady of Shalott."
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