Tennyson, is perhaps the one who made The Lady Of Shalott famous. He wrote a beautiful poem about her.
On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott.  Willows whiten, aspens quiver,  Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott. By the margin, willow-veil'd Slide the heavy barges trail'd By slow horses; and unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd Skimming down to Camelot: But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott?  Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to tower'd Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott".  PART II 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 thro' 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-hair'd page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot; And sometimes thro' 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 thro' 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.  PART III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A redcross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott. The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy.  The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down to  Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung, Beside remote 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.  As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over still Shalott.  His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot.  From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror, "Tirra lirra," by the river  Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom; She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-lily  bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd 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. PART IV In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And round about the prow she wrote 'The Lady of Shalott.'  And down the river's dim expanse-- Like some bold seër in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance-- With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott. Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right-- The leaves upon her falling light-- Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot; And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott.  Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darken'd wholly,  Turn'd to tower'd Camelot; For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale  between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame, And round the prow they read her name, '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 cross'd 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".  - Tennyson
The story is a sad one. It is about a young woman trapped by a curse on an island living in a tower dreaming of the love of Lancelet. She can see him in her magic mirror, and she can weave the images she sees in her mirror, but she can not leave her island. All she has are dreams… One day, she becomes weary of watching the scenes flash in her mirror. She yearns to be part of the world and live the dreams she sees in her magical mirror. So she leaves her tower, she gets in a boat, and she heads down the river to Camelot…. It is a cold night and slowly as she is singing songs about love, she freezes to death as she floats down the river. When she arrives dead in her boat, all her beloved dream has to say is, “well she had a lovely face.”
This soap, is made froma coconut glysterine base. I added no coloring. There is some olive oil to keep skin healthy and a bit of aloe from the aloe plant on my kitchen windowsill. It is 100% natural and organic and of course vegan, and not tested on any animals other than humans. I spent a great deal of time studying the story for this and the description of Shallot from the poem. I wanted to try to transport who ever uses this soap there. It smells of rivers, and from somewhere way down stream comes a very light scent of red wine and of course lilies for the lily maid. It is a beautiful soft sweet scent. Just divine. It smells like a dream….