Idylls of the King by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (read book txt) ๐
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The Idylls are a series of twelve long blank verse poems by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, telling the tale of Arthur and his round table. While some of them are stories of adventure and daring of the kind youโd expect from an Arthurian epic, many take on a darker tone, relating how Arthur was betrayed and how his kingdom grew decadent and eventually fell.
The poems stand on their own as carefully-constructed and masterful examples of long-form blank-verse poetry, and theyโre engaging to read strictly as tales of knighthood and intrigueโbut many also read the Idylls as allegorical references to Victorian societal mores.
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- Author: Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Read book online ยซIdylls of the King by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (read book txt) ๐ยป. Author - Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Down, down, and close again, and nip me flat,
If I be such a traitress. Yield my boon,
Till which I scarce can yield you all I am;
And grant my re-reiterated wish,
The great proof of your love: because I think,
However wise, ye hardly know me yet.โ
And Merlin loosed his hand from hers and said,
โI never was less wise, however wise,
Too curious Vivien, though you talk of trust,
Than when I told you first of such a charm.
Yea, if ye talk of trust I tell you this,
Too much I trusted when I told you that,
And stirred this vice in you which ruined man
Through woman the first hour; for howsoeโer
In children a great curiousness be well,
Who have to learn themselves and all the world,
In you, that are no child, for still I find
Your face is practised when I spell the lines,
I call itโ โwell, I will not call it vice:
But since you name yourself the summer fly,
I well could wish a cobweb for the gnat,
That settles, beaten back, and beaten back
Settles, till one could yield for weariness:
But since I will not yield to give you power
Upon my life and use and name and fame,
Why will ye never ask some other boon?
Yea, by Godโs rood, I trusted you too much.โ
And Vivien, like the tenderest-hearted maid
That ever bided tryst at village stile,
Made answer, either eyelid wet with tears:
โNay, Master, be not wrathful with your maid;
Caress her: let her feel herself forgiven
Who feels no heart to ask another boon.
I think ye hardly know the tender rhyme
Of โtrust me not at all or all in all.โ
I heard the great Sir Lancelot sing it once,
And it shall answer for me. Listen to it.
โIn Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours,
Faith and unfaith can neโer be equal powers:
Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.
โIt is the little rift within the lute,
That by and by will make the music mute,
And ever widening slowly silence all.
โThe little rift within the loverโs lute
Or little pitted speck in garnered fruit,
That rotting inward slowly moulders all.
โIt is not worth the keeping: let it go:
But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no.
And trust me not at all or all in all.โ
O Master, do ye love my tender rhyme?โ
And Merlin looked and half believed her true,
So tender was her voice, so fair her face,
So sweetly gleamed her eyes behind her tears
Like sunlight on the plain behind a shower:
And yet he answered half indignantly:
โFar other was the song that once I heard
By this huge oak, sung nearly where we sit:
For here we met, some ten or twelve of us,
To chase a creature that was current then
In these wild woods, the hart with golden horns.
It was the time when first the question rose
About the founding of a Table Round,
That was to be, for love of God and men
And noble deeds, the flower of all the world.
And each incited each to noble deeds.
And while we waited, one, the youngest of us,
We could not keep him silent, out he flashed,
And into such a song, such fire for fame,
Such trumpet-glowings in it, coming down
To such a stern and iron-clashing close,
That when he stopt we longed to hurl together,
And should have done it; but the beauteous beast
Scared by the noise upstarted at our feet,
And like a silver shadow slipt away
Through the dim land; and all day long we rode
Through the dim land against a rushing wind,
That glorious roundel echoing in our ears,
And chased the flashes of his golden horns
Till they vanished by the fairy well
That laughs at ironโ โas our warriors didโ โ
Where children cast their pins and nails, and cry,
โLaugh, little well!โ but touch it with a sword,
It buzzes fiercely round the point; and there
We lost him: such a noble song was that.
But, Vivien, when you sang me that sweet rhyme,
I felt as though you knew this cursed charm,
Were proving it on me, and that I lay
And felt them slowly ebbing, name and fame.โ
And Vivien answered smiling mournfully:
โO mine have ebbed away for evermore,
And all through following you to this wild wood,
Because I saw you sad, to comfort you.
Lo now, what hearts have men! they never mount
As high as woman in her selfless mood.
And touching fame, howeโer ye scorn my song,
Take one verse moreโ โthe lady speaks itโ โthis:
โโโMy name, once mine, now thine, is closelier mine,
For fame, could fame be mine, that fame were thine,
And shame, could shame be thine, that shame were mine.
So trust me not at all or all in all.โ
โSays she not well? and there is moreโ โthis rhyme
Is like the fair pearl-necklace of the Queen,
That burst in dancing, and the pearls were spilt;
Some lost, some stolen, some as relics kept.
But nevermore the same two sister pearls
Ran down the silken thread to kiss each other
On her white neckโ โso is it with this rhyme:
It lives dispersedly in many hands,
And every minstrel sings it differently;
Yet is there one true line, the pearl of pearls:
โMan dreams of Fame while woman wakes to love.โ
Yea! Love, though Love were of the grossest, carves
A portion from the solid present, eats
And uses, careless of the rest; but Fame,
The Fame that follows death is nothing to us;
And what is Fame in life but half-disfame,
And counterchanged with darkness? ye yourself
Know well that Envy calls you Devilโs son,
And since ye seem the Master of all Art,
They fain would make you Master of all vice.โ
And Merlin locked his hand in hers and said,
โI once was looking for a magic weed,
And found a fair young squire who sat alone,
Had carved himself a knightly shield of wood,
And then was painting on it fancied arms,
Azure, an Eagle rising or, the Sun
In dexter chief; the scroll โI follow fame.โ
And speaking not, but leaning over him
I took his brush and blotted out the bird,
And made a Gardener putting in a graff,
With this for motto, โRather use than fame.โ
You should have seen him blush; but afterwards
He made a stalwart knight. O Vivien,
For you, methinks you think you love me well;
For me, I love you somewhat; rest: and Love
Should have some rest and pleasure in himself,
Not ever be too curious for a boon,
Too prurient for a proof against the
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