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sexta-feira, 29 de fevereiro de 2008

Lady of Shallot - Tennyson,1842

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, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed:
"I am half sick of shadows," said The Lady of Shalott.

Excerpt from 'The Lady of Shalott' - Tennyson, 1842

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