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 to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash'd into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily 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. ..."
dear lady of shalott,
but why had you turn?
why this foolish dream?
why had you a mirror?
tirra lirra. tirra lirra.
bury you in satin,
lay you down on a bed of roses?
sink you in the river at dawn,
send you away with the words of a love song?
sharp knife of a short life.
the ballad of a dove,
go with peace and love,
gather up your tears.
