Luyện nghe bài hát The Lady of Shalott

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

To Camelot;

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

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

Flowing to Camelot.

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

reapers, reaping early,
In among the barley
Hear a that echoes cheerly
From the river clearly

to tower'd Camelot;

And by the moon the weary,
Piling in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers "'tis the
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 the curse may be,
And so she steadily,
And little other hath she,
The of Shalott.

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

Winding to Camelot;

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

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

And music, to Camelot;

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

A bow-shot her bower-eaves,
He rode the barley sheaves,
The sun came thro' the leaves,
And upon the brazen greaves

Of Sir Lancelot.

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

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

As he back to Camelot.

From the bank and from the
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 down to Camelot.

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

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

Over Camelot;

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

And the river's dim expanse
some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own -
With a glassy

Did she to Camelot.

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

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

to towered Camelot.

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

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

Silent Camelot.

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

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

All the Knights at

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