Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
To the plankèd wharfage came:
Below the stern they read her name,
⁠"The Lady of Shalott."

They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest,
Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire and guest.
There lay a parchment on her breast,
That puzzled more than all the rest,
⁠The wellfed wits at Camelot.
"The web was woven curiously
The charm is broken utterly,
Draw near and fear not,—this is I,
⁠The Lady of Shalott."