Says, “Lie you there, dove Isabel, And all my sorrows lie with thee; Till Kemp Owyne come ower the sea, And borrow you with kisses three, Let all the warld do what they will, Oh borrowed shall you never be!”
Her breath grew strang, her hair grew lang, And twisted thrice about the tree, And all the people, far and near, Thought that a savage beast was she.
These news did come to Kemp Owyne, Where he lived, far beyond the sea; He hasted him to Craigy’s sea, And on the savage beast lookd he.
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang, And twisted was about the tree, And with a swing she came about: “Come to Craigy’s sea, and kiss with me.
“Here is a royal belt,” she cried, “That I have found in the green sea; And while your body it is on, Drawn shall your blood never be; But if you touch me, tail or fin, I vow my belt your death shall be.”
He stepped in, gave her a kiss, The royal belt he brought him wi; Her breath was strang, her hair was lang, And twisted twice about the tree, And with a swing she came about: “Come to Craigy’s sea, and kiss with me.
“Here is a royal ring,” she said, “That I have found in the green sea; And while your finger it is on, Drawn shall your blood never be; But if you touch me, tail or fin, I swear my ring your death shall be.”
He stepped in, gave her a kiss, The royal ring he brought him wi; Her breath was strang, her hair was lang, And twisted ance about the tree, And with a swing she came about: “Come to Craigy’s sea, and kiss with me.
“Here is a royal brand,” she said, “That I have found in the green sea; And while your body it is on, Drawn shall your blood never be; But if you touch me, tail or fin, I swear my brand your death shall be.”
He stepped in, gave her a kiss, The royal brand he brought him wi; Her breath was sweet, her hair grew short, And twisted nane about the tree, And smilingly she came about, As fair a woman as fair could be.
On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro’ the field the road runs by To many-towered Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below. The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro’ the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.