On day of sun and summer heat,
A young man farms among the wheat,
His work ne’er seen as any feat,
Its purpose be to quotient meet,
                In the fields of Camelot.
His work complete hours after noon,
He lies to rest in light of moon,
‘Neath willow tree he hears a tune,
                Come from strange Shalott.

Was not the first this song he heard,
As sweet as chirping of a bird.
To where is seen the water gird
His ears had often promptly turned,
                Away from Camelot.
The singer fair, he did not know,
But song his face would light aglow,
And often thoughts of his would blow,
                Upon the isle, Shalott.

“In cursed seal, the isle is shrouded,”
Said those around the market crowded.
The boy had thought their judgments clouded,
The love he had he never doubted,
               Despite the words of Camelot.
For voice there trapped in lightless tower,
He often dreamt of lending power,
To see her free, the captured flower,
               The Lady of Shalott.

When time was right, there came a day,
As clouds in somber mood turned grey,
To bring to light that which he pray.
And so, with nothing left to say,
               He ran toward Camelot.
At river there, he found great length.
Though with no boat, he reached the banks,
For in the fields he’d found the strength,
               To make it to Shalott.

His body cold, his soul ablaze,
He made his way to open door,
Climbed up the stairs in lighting poor,
And in his mind he thought no more
                Of busy Camelot.
But in her room, he found it bare,
With only woven works of care,
Which all revealed such beauty rare,
                Of worlds outside Shalott.

And though within his heart he knew,
The voice he loved had bid adieu,
Her memory remaineth true,
                The Lady of Shalott.