Greetings to all on the day-after on the occasion of being rained in– rain in the cold months is not my favorite kind of rain– which kept me indoors this weekend. And so, taking a break from watching the winter games, I switched to the mystery channel on TV.
And I’m so glad I did for something in the dialogue sent me investigating a lovely poem I’d never come across before. Well, more than a poem, it’s a lyrical ballad, published in 1832. The Lady of Shalott was written by the 19th-century English poet Alfred Tennyson who was inspired by the 13th-century short prose text Donna di Scalotta. It tells the tragic story of Elaine of Astolat, a young noblewoman stranded in a tower up the river from Camelot.
I was mesmerized at the way the words rolled beautifully from my tongue. Gosh, what talent! And then, after reading more about the author’s life, I could not separate the idea of how much I thought the 13th-century prose that inspired Tennyson was a mirror of his life, imposed on himself, turning him into that lady of Shalott.
The foremost poet of his generation about whom Edgar Allan Poe wrote guardedly, “I am not sure that Tennyson is not the greatest of poets.”
What his contemporaries thought about his poetry: When the best of his poetry is separated out from the second-rate work of the kind that any writer produces, Tennyson can be seen plainly as one of the half-dozen great poets in the English language, probably far above any other Victorian.
Sources: Poetry Foundation Org. and Wikipedia Org.
Two Images:
1. By John William Waterhouse – ArtDaily.com, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6947168
2. After Dante Gabriel Rossetti (British, London 1828–1882 Birchington-on-Sea)
Met Museum Org. Public Domain
There are four parts to the poem and a newer version too (newer: 1843).
The Lady of Shalott (1832)
BY Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Part I
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro’ the field the road runs by
To many-tower’d Camelot;
The yellow-leaved waterlily
The green-sheathed daffodilly
Tremble in the water chilly
Round about Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens shiver.
The sunbeam showers break and quiver
In the stream that runneth ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
Underneath the bearded barley,
The reaper, reaping late and early,
Hears her ever chanting cheerly,
Like an angel, singing clearly,
O’er the stream of Camelot.
Piling the sheaves in furrows airy,
Beneath the moon, the reaper weary
Listening whispers, ‘ ‘Tis the fairy,
Lady of Shalott.’
The little isle is all inrail’d
With a rose-fence, and overtrail’d
With roses: by the marge unhail’d
The shallop flitteth silken sail’d,
Skimming down to Camelot.
A pearl garland winds her head:
She leaneth on a velvet bed,
Full royally apparelled,
The Lady of Shalott.
Part II
No time hath she to sport and play:
A charmed web she weaves alway.
A curse is on her, if she stay
Her weaving, either night or day,
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be;
Therefore she weaveth steadily,
Therefore no other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
She lives with little joy or fear.
Over the water, running near,
The sheepbell tinkles in her ear.
Before her hangs a mirror clear,
Reflecting tower’d Camelot.
And as the mazy web she whirls,
She sees the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower’d Camelot:
And sometimes thro’ the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror’s magic sights,
For often thro’ the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, came from Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead
Came two young lovers lately wed;
‘I am half sick of shadows,’ said
The Lady of Shalott.
Part III
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves,
And flam’d upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel’d
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter’d free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down from Camelot:
And from his blazon’d baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn’d like one burning flame together,
As he rode down from Camelot.
As often thro’ the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over green Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;
On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow’d
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down from Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash’d into the crystal mirror,
‘Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:’
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom
She made three paces thro’ the room
She saw the water-flower bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look’d down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
‘The curse is come upon me,’ cried
The Lady of Shalott.
Part IV
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;
Outside the isle a shallow boat
Beneath a willow lay afloat,
Below the carven stern she wrote,
The Lady of Shalott.
A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight,
All raimented in snowy white
That loosely flew (her zone in sight
Clasp’d with one blinding diamond bright)
Her wide eyes fix’d on Camelot,
Though the squally east-wind keenly
Blew, with folded arms serenely
By the water stood the queenly
Lady of Shalott.
With a steady stony glance—
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Beholding all his own mischance,
Mute, with a glassy countenance—
She look’d down to Camelot.
It was the closing of the day:
She loos’d the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
As when to sailors while they roam,
By creeks and outfalls far from home,
Rising and dropping with the foam,
From dying swans wild warblings come,
Blown shoreward; so to Camelot
Still as the boathead wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her chanting her deathsong,
The Lady of Shalott.
A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,
She chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her eyes were darken’d wholly,
And her smooth face sharpen’d slowly,
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 pale, pale corpse she floated by,
Deadcold, between the houses high,
Dead into tower’d Camelot.
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
To the planked wharfage came:
Below the stern they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
They cross’d themselves, their stars they blest,
Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.
There lay a parchment on her breast,
That puzzled more than all the rest,
The wellfed wits at Camelot.
‘The web was woven curiously,
The charm is broken utterly,
Draw near and fear not,—this is I,
The Lady of Shalott.’
***
This is NOT my poem, but I hope you delight in the enthusiasm that led me to share it with you here. Thanks for reading, and as always, I wish you miracles.
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Wow; truly lovely 😍
Thanks for sharing, Selma
♥️
David
My pleasure, David. Glad you read.
Selma! You immediately brought this scene from Anne of Green Gables to mind for me: https://youtu.be/eoBjoHBGqo0 an old favorite ❤️ Happy Valentine’s Day to you 😍
Sweet how that happens. So of course you already knew this lovely poem. Impressed 🤩
I didn’t know it until last night.
And I noticed a different spelling. I’m using the one at Poetry Org.
Happy Valentine’s Day to you too. Right after your birthday.
Ingrid, I’ll purchase your book the paperback. Let me know the moment it’s out. Please. Thanks. 👏
Thanks Selma! It’s already out 😍 let me know if you have any problems getting it in Japan xx
Really? Oh my. Sorry for the delay. I’ll go to Amazon. Might take a few days. 👏 👏 Amazon is the right place, right? 😉
Yes, thanks Selma 🥰
Fabulous piece, Selma. Thanks for sharing . Happy valentines day.💕
Aww. And same to you, dear one. Stay in Grace. xoxo thanks for reading. xo
My pleasure .💕❤️💕
Beautiful poem. Thanks for sharing, Selma! 🙂
My pleasure entirely, Yvette. Thanks for reading. xoxo
Such a lovely poem Selma, thank you for sharing with us the work of Alfred, Lord Tennyson. ❤️
My pleasure. Glad you liked it.
🤗💖
The best poem ever!!
I agree. So melodious. It’s a smooth pleasant feel rolling off the tongue. Not easy to do. Glad you like it too. 💃🏼 ✍🏻 🕺
I read this at uni. Very compelling
I just adore it. Thanks for reading. xoxo
Thank you for this gift. I have not read it before and the illustrations too are beatuiful.
Aww. Glad I could gift you something as lovely as this poem. Glad you enjoyed. I bless you. xoxo
🙂
Thank you for sharing. I really enjoyed this!
So pleased you enjoyed it, my sweet JYP. It’s my real pleasure. xoxo
I enjoyed reading this poem Selma. I had not read it before. An interesting tale indeed!
So glad I could bring this to you then. Glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for blessing me a comment. xoxo
You are welcome! I enjoyed the story!
Wow! Lovely poem of Alfred Tennyson. Thank you for sharing, dear Selma! 🤗