But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror’s magic sights,
For often thro’ the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, came from Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead
Came two young lovers lately wed;
'I am half sick of shadows,' said
The Lady of Shalott.
The cursed Lady is still confined in her tower, weaving a tapestry, viewing the world outside only through the reflection in the large mirror in the background.
To weave the mirror’s magic sights,
For often thro’ the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, came from Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead
Came two young lovers lately wed;
'I am half sick of shadows,' said
The Lady of Shalott.
The cursed Lady is still confined in her tower, weaving a tapestry, viewing the world outside only through the reflection in the large mirror in the background.
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