Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott. Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Through the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Part I On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky And through 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.
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