Half sick of shadows

[dama_azalais]

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.

Tennyson.

Comments

[villa_mediana]

Como siempre demostrais un gusto esquisito, mi queridisima Dama, pero el poema, este poema, merece reproducirse completo...