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There was a woman. She lived in a tower on an island called Shalott, and so she was called The Lady of |
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Shalott. There was a curse on her, and she didn't know why, and she didn't know what would happen if she broke the rule that would invoke the curse. What she knew was that she wasn't supposed to look toward the castle and the town of |
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She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott. |
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Camelot. And she kept weaving this tapestry with the images she got from her mirror that showed her reflections of things outside her tower and across the river that bounded her island. People would go by |
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A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling through the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. |
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on the road, and she found them interesting, but she didn't dare leave the tower. And then one day Sir Lancelot rode by, and she was so distracted by him that she looked in the direction of Camelot, the place toward which he was riding. She got |
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Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror cracked from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott. |
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into a boat, trace-like, and drifted down the river, singing. She couldn't keep her eyes off Camelot, and that is apparently what killed her. She died with the song on her lips before the boat |
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Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. |
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reached the first houses of the town. Nobody had seen anything like this, because everyone came out to look, including "knight and burgher, lord and dame." And The Lady of Shalott had written her name on the prow of the boat, so they knew who she was. And Lancelot himself said that her face was lovely, and he hoped God would lend her grace, and he said her name, which no doubt would have made the lady very happy. |