Luyện nghe bài hát The Lady of Shalott

On either of the river lie
Long of barley and of rye,
clothe the world and meet the sky;
And thro' the the road run by

To Camelot;

And up and the people go,
Gazing where the blow
Round an island below,
The of Shalott.

Willows whiten, quiver,
Little dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for
By the island in the

down to Camelot.

Four grey walls, and four towers,
a space of flowers,
And the isle imbowers
The of Shalott.

Only reapers, early,
In among the bearded
Hear a song that cheerly
the river winding clearly

Down to tower'd

And by the moon the weary,
Piling in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers "'tis the
The of Shalott."

There she weaves by and day
A web with colours gay,
She has a whisper say,
A is on her if she stay

To down to Camelot.

She knows not what the may be,
And so she steadily,
And other care hath she,
The of Shalott.

And moving through a clear
hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the appear.
There she sees the near

Winding to Camelot;

And thro' the mirror blue
The Knights come two and two.
She no loyal Knight and true,
The Of Shalott.

But in her web she still
To weave the magic sights,
For often the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and

And music, to Camelot;

Or the Moon was overhead,
two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows,"
The Of Shalott.

A bow-shot her bower-eaves,
He between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen

Of Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross knight for ever
To a in his shield,
sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside Shalott.

His broad clear in sunlight glow'd;
On hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet
His curls as on he rode,

As he back to Camelot.

the bank and from the river
he flashed into the mirror,
"Tirra Lirra," by the
Sir Lancelot.

She the web, she left the loom,
She made three taro' the room,
She saw the bloom,
She saw the and the plume,

She looked to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated
The mirror cracked side to side;
"The curse is upon me," cried
The of Shalott.

In the east-wind straining,
The pale yellow were waning,
The stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky

towered Camelot;

Down she came and found a
a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she
The Lady of

And down the dim expanse
Like some bold in a trance,
all his own mischance -
With a glassy

Did she to Camelot.

And at the of the day
She the chain and down she lay;
The broad stream her far away,
The of Shalott.

a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, lowly,
her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes darkened wholly,

to towered Camelot.

For ere she reach'd the tide
The house by the water-side,
in her song she died,
The of Shalott.

Under and balcony,
By and gallery,
A shape she floated by,
between the houses high,

Silent Camelot.

Out upon the wharfs came,
Knight and Burgher, and Dame,
And round the prow read her name,
The of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is
And in the palace near
Died the sound of royal
And crossed themselves for fear,

All the at Camelot;

But Lancelot mused a space
He said, "She has a lovely
God in his mercy her grace,
The of Shalott."