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 ;

Down she came and found a boat

Beneath a willow left afloat,

And round about the prow she wrote

The Lady of Shalott.

nd down the river's dim expanse Like some bold seër 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 lag;

The broad stream bore her far away,

The Lady of Shalott.