The Lady Of Shalott Poem by Bethany Mujahed

There she weaves ny 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 through a mirrow clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot...

...

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For othen though the silent nights
A funeral, with plums and ligths
And music, went to Cameolt;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
'I am half sick of shadows, ' said
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.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson