Camelot Garden (one-shot)

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.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror�s magic sights:
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, came from Camelot.
ââ?¬Å?I am half-sick of shadows,ââ?¬Â said
The Lady of Shalott.
ââ?¬Å?Tirra lirra, tirra lirra,ââ?¬Â
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web: she left the loom:
She looked down to Camelot.