illows whiten, aspens quiver, Kiffle breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs forever

By the island in the river

Flowing down to Camelot.

Four gray walls, and four grap towers,

Oberlook a space of flowers,

And the silent isle imbowers,

The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veild,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhaild
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd

Skimming down to Gamelot:

But who hath seen her wave her hand 1

Or at the casement seen her stand!

Or is she known in all the land,

The Lady of Shalott I