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The Lady of Shalott
Alfred, Lord Tennyson

In the Library

The Lady of Shalott

Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1842

Form
Form Poem
Difficulty
Difficulty Accessible
Reading time
Reading time 5 minutes
Chapters
Chapters 1
Length
Length 1k words

£1.99

PhysicalDigital

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“I am half-sick of shadows,” said / The Lady of Shalott.

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  • Yours for good, on every iPhone you sign in to.
  • Read in the app’s own reader, with the original beside the translation where there is one.
  • Downloaded, so it reads with no signal.
  • The same price as in the app. Folio already opens every book on this shelf; buying keeps this one after Folio ends. A refund takes it back.

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About the book

Four gray walls and four gray towers on an island in a river, long fields of barley and rye running down to Camelot, and in the tower a weaver who has never looked at any of it with her own eyes. A curse she cannot name forbids it, so she works from a mirror hung above her loom and takes the world secondhand: red cloaks of market girls, a funeral passing by night with plumes and lights, two young lovers lately wed. "I am half sick of shadows," she says, and the line lands like something overheard, the exact ache of a life watched at one remove. Then Lancelot comes riding between the barley sheaves, the sun flaming on his brazen greaves, and she crosses the room and looks down to Camelot. The mirror cracks from side to side. Tennyson has rhymed every stanza shut on her name to bring you to that sound. She goes down to the water, finds a boat beneath a willow, and writes her own name round the prow before she lies down in it.

The Lady of Shalott, in the bookshop · The Daily Canon