A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling through the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight forever kneeled To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.
Lo, steel-clad War his gorgeous standard rears:;! The red-cross squadrons madly rage, And mow thro' infancy and age...samuel rogers
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