There she cooks by night and day A cauldron soup with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To cook at Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be, And so she cooketh steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shallott.
And sipping through a meal so clear That cooks before her all the year, Shallots and olive oil appear. There she sees her dinner near Unwinding down in Camelot;
There the soup's strong odour whirls, And there the tasty pasta curls, And the red skins of bacon grills, Pass on some more shallotts.
But in her food she yet delights To taste the evening's juicy bites, For often through the silent nights A chilli sauce with plumes and lights And music , went to Camelot..
And then arrives Sir Hackalot and....
She left the soup, she left the room, She made three paces through the room, She saw his lance but in full bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She looked down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror cracked from side to side; "The verrse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shallot.
(ps It's very cold in Sydney and I had soup for dinner tonight!!)