Luyện nghe bài hát The Lady of Shalott

On either side of the lie
Long fields of and of rye,
That the world and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the run by

To Camelot;

And up and down the go,
where the lilies blow
Round an there below,
The of Shalott.

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

down to Camelot.

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

Only reapers, early,
In the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes
From the river clearly

to tower'd Camelot;

And by the the reaper weary,
sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, "'tis the fairy
The of Shalott."

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

To look to Camelot.

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

And through a mirror clear
That before her all the year,
of the world appear.
There she the highway near

Winding down to

And sometimes the mirror blue
The come riding two and two.
She hath no Knight and true,
The Of Shalott.

But in her web she delights
To weave the mirror's sights,
For thro' the silent nights
A funeral, plumes and lights

And music, to Camelot;

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

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

Of Sir Lancelot.

A knight for ever kneel'd
To a in his shield,
sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside Shalott.

His clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse
From underneath his helmet
His coal-black as on he rode,

As he rode to Camelot.

From the bank and the river
he into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra Lirra," by the
Sir Lancelot.

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

She looked to Camelot.

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

In the stormy straining,
The pale yellow were waning,
The broad stream in his complaining.
Heavily the low sky

towered Camelot;

Down she came and a boat
Beneath a left afloat,
And round about the she wrote
The of Shalott

And down the dim expanse
Like some seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own -
a glassy countenance

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 were wholly,

to towered Camelot.

For ere she upon the tide
The house by the water-side,
Singing in her she died,
The of Shalott.

Under and balcony,
By and gallery,
A shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the high,

Silent Camelot.

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

Who is this? And is here?
And in the lighted near
the sound of royal cheer;
And crossed themselves for fear,

All the Knights at

But Lancelot mused a little
He said, "She has a face;
God in his lend her grace,
The of Shalott."