Idylls of the King

Idylls of the King is Tennyson’s collection of a dozen Arthurian epic poems written over a period of twenty-nine years. To me, it is the height of English poetry. For some reason, the sonnets of William Shakespeare and his contemporaries never clicked in my brain, but these poems do. What lovely, evocative words the master uses! Words such as puissance, seneschal, scullion, caitiff, vexillary. Countless others. I could spend hours going through the idylls with a dictionary, savoring the beauty and sublimity of Tennyson’s verse.

Things that stand out to me?


Man am I grown, a man’s work I must do.
Follow the deer? follow the Christ, the King,
Live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow the King –
Else, wherefore born?


For an ye heard a music, like enow
They are building still, seeing the city is built
To music, therefore never built at all,
And therefore built for ever.


Know ye not then the Riddling of the Bards:
‘Confusion, and illusion, and relation,
Elusion, and occasion, and evasion’ ?


He compass’d her with sweet observances
And worship, never leaving her, and grew
Forgetful of his promise to the King,
Forgetful of the falcon and the hunt,
Forgetful of the tilt and tournement,
Forgetful of his glory and his name,
Forgetful of his princedom and its cares.
And this forgetfulness was hateful to her.


For Arthur on the Whitsuntide before
Held court at old Caerleon upon Usk.


Where can I get me harborage for the night?


I bought a used, ancient paperback copy of Idylls at a large unnamed book store chain for $3. It saddens me that a pinnacle of English culture has so low a demand today as to sell so cheaply. And yet, because of just that it is available for someone like me to enjoy.