For All Ladies Of Shalott Poem by Aline Murray Kilmer

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.