The Works of Alfred Tennyson, Utgåva 834, Volym 1

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Sida 122 - The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot.
Sida 151 - I'd clasp it round so close and tight. And I would be the necklace, And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom, With her laughter or her sighs, And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasped at night.
Sida 118 - There the river eddy whirls, And there the surly village-churls, And the red cloaks of market girls, Pass onward from Shalott. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, Or long-hair' d page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot ; And sometimes thro...
Sida 61 - THE poet in a golden clime was born, With golden stars above ; Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.
Sida 158 - em away. Old year, you must not go ; So long as you have been with us, Such joy as you have seen with us, Old year, you shall not go. He froth'd his bumpers to the brim ; A jollier year we shall not see. But tho' his eyes are waxing dim, And tho' his foes speak ill of him, He was a friend to me.
Sida 31 - Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors, Old footsteps trod the upper floors, Old voices called her from without. She only said, 'My life is dreary, He cometh not...
Sida 31 - He cometh not,' she said ; She said, ' I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead...
Sida 42 - OWL. WHEN cats run home and light is come, And dew is cold upon the ground, And the far-off stream is dumb, And the whirring sail goes round, And the whirring sail goes round ; Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits.
Sida 29 - The broken sheds look'd sad and strange : Unlifted was the clinking latch ; Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She only said, " My life is dreary, He cometh not...
Sida 117 - PART II There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott. And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear.

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