Lady Hunt

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And trho' the field the road run by

To many-towered Camelot;

And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,

The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes disk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river

Flowing down to Camelot.

Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers

The Lady of Shalott

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the beared barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,

Down to tower'd Camelot;

And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listing, whispers "'tis the fairy

The Lady of Shalott."

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 through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near

Winding down to Camelot;

And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The Knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,

The Lady of Shalott.

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 with lights

And music, went to Camelot;

Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am, half sick of shadow," she said,

The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves,

Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,

Beside remote Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,

As he rode down to Camelot.

And from the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river

Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,

She look'd down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried -- photo

The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining

Over tower'd Camelot; -- photo

Down she cam and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round the prow she wrote

The Lady of Shalott.

Down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance -
With a glassy countenance

She looked to Camelot.

And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and shown she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,

The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted slowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,

Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.

For ere she reach'd upon the tide
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 floa

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space for flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veil'd
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
Down to tower'd Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."

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.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot:
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' the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

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.

Part III

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A redcross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle-bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash'd into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale-yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right
The leaves upon her falling light
Thro' the noises of the night
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken'd wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot;
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
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,
A corpse between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they cross'd themselves for fear,
All the knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space.
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

Partie I

De chaque côté de la rivière s'étendent
De longs champs d'orge et de seigle,
Qui couvrent les plateaux et rejoignent le ciel;
Et à travers les champs la route mène
Au très imposant Camelot;
Et les gens vont et viennent,
Regardant où poussent les lis
Autour d'une île là en bas,
L'île de Shalott.

Les saules blanchissent, les trembles frissonnent,
Les brises légères s'assombrissent et tremblent
A travers l'onde qui passe pour toujours
Près de l'île dans la rivière
Coulant vers Came

Quand peindre est devenu impossible, ça l'a rendu fou. Il arrachait les toiles de leurs cadres, se blessait avec les clous, partait les brûler au fond du jardin. Une nuit, j'ai été réveillée par une odeur étrange. Je me suis précipitée à la fenêtre. Près du muret en pierres, entre les buissons d'hortensias, John arrosait son feu en agitant une bouteille. De loin, on aurait dit la cérémonie déchaînée d'une sorcière. A partir de cette nuit-là, il m'a fait peur. Il avait arrosé les toiles de térébenthine et le jardin, la maison, nous tous, nous aurions pu prendre feu.
Je voudrais demander :
- C'est pour ça qu'il est parti ?
Au lieu de quoi, je demande :
- C'est pour ça que les hortensias bleus n'ont plus jamais fleuri ?
Sans répondre, ma mère caresse mes cheveux.

Nous avons fait le voyage en silence. Lorsque le froid m'a tirée d'un sommeil sans rêve, la mer était proche.
Derrière la vitre, au bord de la falaise, tout s'arrête. Le noir, peuplé d'une vie inquiétante, le noir attirant roule ses vagues. Un mot, à Kardec, désigne les noyés volontaires, condamnés à retourner éternellement les grosses pierres au fond de l'océan. Retournants est le nom de ces âmes en peine, en quête d'un dernier refuge, parmi le fracas des récifs hostiles aux vivants et aux morts. Retournante suis-je ce soir, moi qui reviens hanter la maison qui me hante.

Le casino est un mouroir où des vieillardes échangent leur retraite contre des jetons d'écoliers. A travers les fentes des machines, elles balancent des années de travail triste, comme on jette aux ordures des cartons de souvenirs encombrants.

L'appartement hautain ignore que la fille aux cheveux de feu vit, depuis sa naissance, sous une malédiction terrifiante. Je n'ai pas peur d'être invisible. Je voudrais me transformer lentement en vieille dame que le regard des hommes négligent. Alors je serai une vieille femme ordinaire, et non le monstre aux mouvements désordonnés, à la démarche chancelante, aux regards égarés, le monstre qui fait peur, pas pitié, que mon père, en se jetant depuis la fenêtre d'un appartement de Cardiff, a refusé d'être.
Je préfère mourir invisible qu'assassinée par la honte.