And down the river's dim expanse,

Like some bold seër 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. 

 

— Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)

“The Lady of Shalott”