The Lady of Shallot Rose - Tuesday Orange colorchallenge

The luminous, pale orange petals pay homage to the mysterious lady in Tennyson's romantic ballad inspired by medieval Arthurian legends.

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

    Lady of Shalott."

She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,

    The Lady of 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.

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.

"Who is this? And what is here?"
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed 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."

The Lady of Shalott lives a lonely life in an isolated castle on an island in the midst of a river which flows to Camelot. She is a mystery to the local people, who know of her existence, but have never actually met her due to a curse which forces her to remain apart, constantly weaving on her loom without ever looking directly out at the world. All she can do is catch glimpses in a mirror, which reflects the roadways and the people of Camelot who pass by, the "shadows of the world".

When the handsome knight, Sir Lancelot rides by she cannot help but gaze out her window directly at him. Being"half sick of shadows" she ceases weaving and obeying the terms of the curse. Throwing all caution to the wind and determined to pursue a fuller life, she flees the tower and finds a boat, stopping to write her name upon it before setting down the river towards Camelot and Sir Lancelot. Sadly, she dies before arriving at the palace.

The Lords and Ladies were all frightened by her arrival, except for Sir Lancelot, who sees the goodness and beauty of her countenance and speaks a blessing over her.