Chapters 12
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1 01 - Before the Mirror - Read by AKW 1:53
Waugh Now like the Lady of Shalott, I dwell within an empty room, and through the day and through the night I sit before an ancient loom. And like the Lady of Shalott, I look into a mirror wide, where shadows come and shadows go, and ply my shuttle as they glide. Not as she waved the yellow wool, Ulysses' wife, Penelope, by day a queen among her maids, but in the night a woman, she, who, creeping from her lonely couch, unraveled all the slender woof, or, with a torch, she climbed the towers to fire the faggots on the roof. But weaving with a steady hand, the shadows, whether false or true, I put aside a doubt which asks. Among these phantoms, what are you? For not with ulcer, tomb, or urn, or long-haired Greek with hollow shield, or dark-proud ship with banks of oars, or banquet in the tented field, or Norman knight in armour-clad, waiting of foe where four roads meet, or hawk and hound in Bosky-dell, where daemon page in secret greet, or rose and lily, bud and flower, my web is broidered.
Nothing bright is woven here, the shadows grow, still darker in the mirror's light. And as my web grows darker too, accursed seems this empty room, for still I must forever weave these phantoms by this ancient loom.
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2 02 - Before the Mirror - Read by AS 2:09
Now, like the Lady of Shalott, I dwell within an empty room, and through the day and through the night I sit before an ancient loom, and like the Lady of Shalott, I look into a mirror wide. Where shadows come and shadows go, and ply my shuttle as they glide. Not as she wove the yellow wool, Ulysses' wife Penelope, by day a queen among her maids, but in the night a woman she, who, creeping from her lonely couch, unravelled all the sender-woof, or in a torch she climbed the towers to fire the faggots on the roof. But weaving with a steady hand the shadows, whether false or true, I put aside a doubt which asks, Among these phantoms what are you? For not with altar, tomb, or urn, or long-haired Greek with hollow shield, or dark-prowed ship with bank of oars, or banquet in a tented field, or Norman knight in armor-clad, Waiting a foe where four roads meet, or hawk and hound in bosky dell, where dame and page in secret greet, or rose and lily, bud and flower.
My web is broidered, nothing bright. Is woven here the shadows grow, still darker in the mirror's light. And my web grows darker too, accursed seems this empty room. For still I must forever weave these phantoms by this ancient loom.
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3 03 - Before the Mirror - Read by BK 1:54
Now, like the Lady of Shalott, I dwell within an empty room, and through the day and through the night I sit before an ancient loom. And like the Lady of Shalott, I look into a mirror wide, where shadows come and shadows go, and ply my shuttle as they glide. Not as she wove the yellow wool, Ulysses' wife, Penelope, by day a queen among her maids, but in the night a woman, she, who, creeping from her lonely couch, unraveled all the slender woof, or with a torch she climbed the towers to fire the faggots on the roof. But weaving with a steady hand the shadows, whether false or true, I put aside a doubt which asks among these phantoms. What are you? For not with altar, tomb, or urn, Or long-haired Greek with hollow shield, Or dark-prowed ship with banks of oars, Or banquet in the tented field, Or Norman knight in armor-clad, Waiting a foe where four roads meet, Or hawk and hound in bosky dell, Where dame and page in secret greet, Or rose and lily, bud and flower.
My web is broidered. Nothing bright is woven here. The shadows grow still darker in the mirror's light. And as my web grows darker too, accursed seems this empty room, for still I must forever weave these phantoms by this ancient loom.
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4 04 - Before the Mirror - Read by CCS 2:27
and through the day and through the night I sit before an ancient loom. And like the Lady of Charlotte, I look into a mirror wide, where shadows come and shadows go, and ply my shuttle as they glide. Not as she wove the yellow wool, Ulysses' wife, Penelope, by day a queen among her maids, but in the night a woman, she, who, creeping from her lonely couch, unraveled all the slender woof, Or, with a torch, she climbed the towers to fire the faggots on the roof. But weaving with a steady hand the shadows, whether force are true, I put aside a doubt which asks, Among these phantoms what are you? For not with altar, tomb or urn, or long-haired Greek with hollow shield, Or dark-prowed ship with banks of oars, or banquet in the tented field.
Or nomen knight in armor-clad, waiting a foe where four roads meet. Or hawk and hound in bosky dell, where dame and page in secret greet. Or rose and lily, bud and flower, my web is broidered. Nothing bright is woven here. The shadows grow, still darker in the mirror's light. And as my web grows darker too, accursed seems this empty room. For still I must forever weave these phantoms by this ancient loom.
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5 05 - Before the Mirror - Read by DL 2:03
Now, like the Lady of Chalot, I dwell within an empty room, and through the day and through the night I sit before an ancient loom, and, like the Lady of Chalot, I look into a mirror wide, where shadows come and shadows go And ply my shuttle as they glide. Not as she wove the yellow wool, Ulysses' wife Penelope, by day a queen among her maids, but in the night a woman, she, who, creeping from her lonely couch, unraveled all the slender woof, or, with a torch, she climbed the towers to fire the faggots on the roof. But weaving with a steady hand the shadows Whether false or true, I put aside a doubt which asks, Among these phantoms, what are you? For not with altar, tomb, or urn, Or long-haired Greek, with hollow shield, Or dark-proud ship, with banks of oars, Or banquet in the tented field, Or Norman knight, in armor-clad, Waiting a foe where four roads meet, Or hawk and hound in bosky dell, Where dame and page in secret greet.
Or rose and lily, bud and flower, my web is bordered. Nothing bright is woven here. The shadows grow still darker in the mirror's light. And as my web grows darker too, accursed seems this empty room. For still I must forever weave these phantoms by this ancient loom.
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6 06 - Before the Mirror - Read by JCM 2:01
Now, like the Lady of Shalott, I dwell within an empty room, and through the day and through the night I sit before an ancient loom. And like the Lady of Shalott, I look into a mirror wide, where shadows come and shadows go, and ply my shuttle as they glide. Not as she wove the yellow wool, Ulysses' wife Penelope, by day a queen among her maids, but in the night a woman, she who, creeping from her lonely couch, unravelled all the slender woof, or with a torch she climbed the towers to fire the faggots on the roof. But weaving with a steady hand the shadows, whether false or true, I put aside a doubt which basks among these phantoms. What are you? For not with altar, tomb, or urn, or long-haired Greek with hollow shield, or dark-prowed ship with banks of oars, or banquet in the tented field, or Norman knight in armor-clad, waiting a foe where four roads meet, or hawk and hound in bosky dell, where dame and page in secret greet, or rose and lily, bud and flower, My web is broidered.
Nothing bright is woven here. The shadows grow still darker in the mirror's light. And as my web grows darker too, accursed seems this empty room. For still I must for ever weave these phantoms by this ancient loom.
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7 07 - Before the Mirror - Read by JN 2:07
Before the Mirror Now, like the lady of Shalott, I dwell within an empty room, And through the day and through the night I sit before an ancient loom. And like the lady of Shalott, I look into a mirror wide, Where shadows come and shadows go, And ply my shuttle as they glide. Not as she wove the yellow woo, Ulysses' wife Penelope, by day a queen among her maids, but in the night a woman she, who, creeping from her lonely couch, unraveled all the slender woof, or with a torch she climbed the towers to fire the faggots on the roof. But weaving with a steady hand, their shadows whether false or true, I put aside a doubt which asks, Among these phantoms, what are you? For not with altar, tomb, or urn, or long-haired creak with hollow shield, or dark-prowed ship with banks of oars, or banquet in the tented field, or Norman knight in armor-clad, waiting a foe where foreroads meet, Or hawk and hound in bosky dell, where dame and page in secret creed.
Or rose and lily, bud and flower, my web is broidered. Nothing bright is woven here. The shadows grow still darker in the mirror's light.
And as my web grows darker too, accursed seems this empty room, for still I must forever weave.
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8 08 - Before the Mirror - Read by LLW 2:18
Now, like the Lady of Shalott, I dwell within an empty room, and through the day and through the night I sit before an ancient loom. And like the Lady of Shalott, I look into a mirror wide, where shadows come, And shadows go, and ply my shuttle as they glide. Not as she wove the yellow wool, Ulysses' wife Penelope, by day a queen among her maids, but in the night a woman she, who creeping from her lonely couch unravelled all the slender woof, or with a torch she climbed the towers to fire the faggots on the roof. But weaving with a steady hand the shadows, whether false or true, I put aside a doubt which asks, Among these phantoms, what are you? For not with altar, tomb, or urn, or long-haired Greek with hollow shield, or dark-prowed ship with banks of oars, or banquet in the tented field, or Norman knight in armor-clad, Waiting a foe where four roads meet, or hawk and hound in bosky dell, where dame and page in secret greet, or rose and lily, bud and flower, my web is brighter'd.
Nothing bright is woven here. The shadows grow still darker in the mirror's light. And as my web grows darker too, Accursed seems this empty room, for still I must forever weave these phantoms by this ancient loom.
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9 09 - Before the Mirror - Read by RC 2:16
I am from Orkney, and this is the 27th of June, 2014. Before the Mirror.
Now, like the lady of Shalott, I dwell within an empty room, and through the day and through the night I sit before an ancient loom. And like the lady of Shalott, I look into a mirror wide, where shadows come and shadows go, and ply my shuttle as they glide. Not as she wove the yellow wool, Ulysses wife Penelope, by day a queen among her maids, but in the night a woman she, who creeping from her lonely couch, unravelled all the slender woof, Or, with a torch, she climbed the towers to fire the phagots on the roof. But weaving with a steady hand the shadows, whether false or true, I put aside a doubt which asks, Among these phantoms, what are you? For not with altar, tomb or urn, or long-haired Greek with hollow shield, or dark-prowed ship with banks of oars, or banquet in the tainted field.
Or Norman knight in armor-clad, waiting a foe where four roads meet, or hawk and hound in bosky dell, where dame and page in secret greet. Or rose and lily, bud and flower, my web is broidered, nothing bright is woven here, that shadows grow still darker in the mirror's light. And as my web grows darker too, Accursed seems this empty room, For still I must forever weave These phantoms by this ancient loom.
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10 10 - Before the Mirror - Read by SJS 2:25
like the Lady of Shalott, I dwell within an empty room, And through the day and through the night I sit before an ancient loom, and like the Lady of Shalott, I look into a mirror wide, where shadows come and shadows go, and ply my shuttle as they glide. Not as she wove the yellow wool, Ulysses' wife, Penelope, by day a queen among her maids, but in the night a woman she. Who, creeping from her lonely couch, unraveled all the slender woof, or with a torch she climbed the towers to fire the faggots on the roof. But weaving with a steady hand the shadows, whether false or true, I put aside a doubt which asks, among these phantoms, what are you?
For not with altar, tomb, or urn, or long-haired Greek, with hollow shield, or dark-proud ship, with banks of oars, or banquet in the tented field, or Norman knight in armor-clad, waiting a foe where four roads meet, or hawk and hound in Bosque-Delle, where dame and page in secret greet, or rose and lily, bud and flower. My web is broidered. Nothing bright is woven here. The shadows grow still darker in the mirror's light. And as my web grows darker too, a cursed seems this empty room. For still I must forever weave these phantoms by this ancient loom.
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11 11 - Before the Mirror - Read by TIM 1:59
Now like the Lady of Shalott, I dwell within an empty room, and through the day and through the night I sit before an ancient loom. And like the Lady of Shalott, I look into a mirror wide, where shadows come and shadows go, and ply my shuttle as they glide. Not as she wove the yellow wool, Ulysses' wife, Penelope. By day a queen among her maids, but in the night a woman, she, who, creeping from her lonely couch, unraveled all the slender woof, or, with a torch, she climbed the towers to fire the faggots on the roof. But weaving with a steady hand the shadows, whether false or true, I put aside a doubt which asks, Among these phantoms, what are you? For not with altar, tomb, or urn, Or long-haired Greek with hollow shield, Or dark-proud ship with banks of oars, Or banquet in the tented field, Or Norman knight in armor-clad, Waiting a foe where four roads meet, Or hawk and hound in bosky dell.
Where Dame and Paige in secret greet. Or Rose and Lily, bud and flower. My web is broidered. Nothing bright is woven here. The shadows grow still darker in the mirror's light.
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12 12 - Before the Mirror - Read by ZK 2:16
Now, like the Lady of Shalott, I dwell within an empty room, and through the day and through the night I sit before an ancient loom. And like the Lady of Shalott, I look into a mirror wide, where shadows come and shadows go. And ply my shuttle as they glide. Not as she wove the yellow wool, Ulysses wife Penelope, By day a queen among her maids, But in the night a woman, she, Who creeping from her lonely couch, Unraveled all the slender woof, Or with a torch she climbed the towers To fire the faggots on the roof. But weaving with a steady hand the shadows, whether false or true, I put aside a doubt which asks, Among these phantoms what are you? For not with altar, tomb or urn, or long-haired Greek with hollow shield, or dark-proud ship with banks of oars, or banquet in the tented field.
Or Norman knight in armor-clad, waiting a foe where four roads meet. Or hawk and hound in bosky dell, where dame and page in secret greet. Or rose and lily, bud and flower, my web is broidered. Nothing bright is woven here. The shadows grow still darker in the mirror's light. And as my web grows darker too, Accursed seems this empty room, For still I must forever weave These phantoms by this ancient loom.