For All Ladies of Shalott

by: Aline Kilmer (Author)

from: Poetry (Pp. 74 - 75)  April 1921

The web flew out and floated wide.
    Poor lady! I was with her then.
She gathered up her piteous pride,
    But she could never weave again.

The mirror cracked from side to side;
    I saw its silver shadows go.
"The curse has come on me!" she cried.
    Poor lady! I had told her so.

She was so proud: she would not hide.
    She only laughed and tried to sing.
But singing, in her song she died.
    She did not profit anything.