Lore Of Shalott

A tribute to Lord Tennyson's "Lady Of Shalott."

The tenebrous clouds of the castle's gloom,
Shall stay with the ominous dirge and loom,
As the mournful winds have sung her doom,
By the bosom of the dim river once abloom.
Along the castle of Shalott.
Sombre are the willows and the hyanciths,
Languishing within the numinous labyrinths,
Beyond the wearisome verge of the plinths. 
The remorse of the Lady of Shalott.

'Tis the charming Lady Of Shalott men adore,
Behind the looking mirror where she forbore,
And Sir Lancelot sought her beauty herefore,
Amid the Autumn's waft that gust'd ne'ermore.
The woe of Shalott.
Those unmistakable whims of dubiety and rue, 
Appearing before the drear spectres that imbue,
Her desolate walls with such an unbidden hue.
The Lady of Shalott.

Wherefore hath she vanish'd within the river
Of this haunting wold with old thorn and sliver?
Where those sprightly swans shall then shiver,
Before the restless boughs of trees that quiver. 
O the dread'd mystery of Shalott.
Whence, the echoes of joy shall thus resound,
Within the alacrity of the daffodillies profound,
Beside an infinite verge of water lilies around.
The Lady of Shalott.


Hark the gentle whispers of her voice nearby,
As the seraphim sing within rejoice her reply,
Staring at the balcony of the tower whereby,
Wrought shepherds of Elysian fields comply.
The faithful men of Shalott.
Hymns of her praise shall be heard thus oft,
Beyond the chambre of her condemnation aloft,
As those haulms of flowers shall be anew soft.
The Lady of Shalott.

Her shadow seen with the flutter of the wings
Of winsome fairies that are swift in their springs,
Beyond the gardens of the lost sapphire rings,
Singing her paean before those cadent kings.
The vicissitude of Shalott.
Dawn hath now arriv'd with the joyous glee
Of mirth and gaiety of a soul now eagerly free,
To frolic within the hummocks beyond the lee.
The Lady of Shalott. 

The dark veil of her despair and her isolation,
With the abeyance of her grievous damnation,
Shall uplift her hope of an imminent salvation,
With the reaper's rhapsodies and jovial elation.
The hymns of praise anon of Shalott.
The august knights of Camelot men of modesty,
Shall all bow in obeisance before her majesty,
Till they have swoon'd with her immortal vanity.
The Lady of Shalott. 

Her malediction shall be gone in placid euphony
Of doughty knights of phantoms of proud eulogy,
Who shall drown the tristful words of her monody,
In devotion of a virginal gleam ridding laden agony.
Avaunt the curse of the Lady of Shalott.
Pallid is the lonesome silhouette of glum sorrow
With the breathtaking wish of the fresh morrow,
And gone shall be a vestige of her e'ery furrow.  
The Lady of Shalott.

Behold that basilic castle of Shalott standing tall,
As a vim by the hill of the isle is seen by the wall,  
With such splendour of her image beyond the hall,
That shall revive the emerald green of a bitter gall.
'Tis the lore of Shalott.
Feel the daring spirit of the Lady of Shalott anew,  
From yonder bracing winds of Camelot that blew,
Onto the wistful fall of the daunting dripping dew.
The Lady of Shalott.