Disclaimer: I didn’t write Alfred Tennyson’s poem, and I’m making no money off this translation.

First is the Sindarin; then is the literal translation into English; then is the original poem.

Part II

Sindarin:

Ennas reva ned dû ar aur
Nath angol na bîl verin.
E lastant thross dhínen i pent,
Rhach or-then ai dartha
A thírad dad a Chamelod.
E ú-ista theled-e-‘rach,
Ar e reva hi vronadui,
Ú-‘âr brestad i den trasta,
I nî Salod.

A padad trî genedril lim
I glinga na den íniath aind,
Morchaint-en-ardhon chaeron thiar.
Ennas tíra i râd al-chaer
Padad dad a Chamelod:
Ennas i ‘wing celon hwinia,
Ar ennas gobel vrêg a vrûn,
Ar i chyll gerain sill bangad,
Trevedir na Halod.

Ned lúrim herth gwendrim verin,
Curunír am roch al-lagor,
Ned lúrim bemdir na find norn,
Egor iôn chammen garn na fast,
Lêdh ani meraid Camelod;
A trî i genedril elu
Idh rychir nerir rych dedyl:
Ú-‘âr rochir dolog a bôr,
I nî Salod.

Dan mi nath dîn e gâr lim ‘lass
Ravad i thiad-e-chenedril,
A lim ned in ndúrim dhinin
Gurvereth na laich a fain
A ‘laer, lennir a Chamelod:
Egor ir ithil mi venel,
Tâd melith tellir, bestannen;
“Ni lom ani morchaint,” e pent,
I nî Salod.

Literal English:

There she weaves in night and day
A web of magic with cheerful colors.
She heard a quiet whisper that said,
A curse over her if she stayed
To look down to Camelot.
She doesn’t know the purposed of the curse,
And she spins now faithful,
She doesn’t have worries that bother her,
The lady of Shalott.

And walking through the clear mirror
That hangs by her all the long years,
Shadows of the distant world appear.
There she sees the non-distant path
Walking down to Camelot:
There the river spindrift twirls,
And yonder an old and lively village,
And the red cloaks of trading girls,
Travel by Shalott.

In some occasions a troop of some cheerful maidens,
A wizard upon a non-fast horse,
In some occasions a shepherd with twisted hair,
Or a red clothed boy with shaggy hair,
Goes to the towers of Camelot;
And through the blue mirror
The knights rode double horses:
She doesn’t have a trusty knight and vassal,
The lady of Shalott.

But in her web she has much joy
Weaving the sights of the mirror,
And often in some of the silent nights
A funeral with flames and clouds
And songs, they went to Camelot:
Or when Moon was in Heaven
Two loves came, married;
“I am weary of the shadows,” she said,
The Lady of Shalott.

English by Lord Alfred Tennyson:

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot:
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-haired page in crimson clad,
Goes by to towered Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.