Poem of the Week ~ The Lady of Shalott, Part III

I hope everyone had a lovely Independence Day!  I most certainly did, spending it with my family, my fiance and his family, and the many guests invited to their annual Independence Day party.  Alas, I had so much fun that I failed to remember to capture the many lovely moments I experienced that day with my camera.  However, I have no doubt that I will remember this celebration for a long time to come.  Making a new side dish with my guy, helping with last-minute preparations, reconnecting with friends, taking a walk with my family, and watching enchanting fireworks on the bank of the lake made for a beautifully memorable day.

Now it's time to introduce Part III of The Lady of Shalott.  I appreciate Tennyson's description of Sir Lancelot, simultaneously masculine and beautiful.  This infamous knight's "coal-black curls" make it easy for me to imagine my Jeffrey as Sir Lancelot.  His energy and optimism stands in such stark contrast to the lady's confinement.  The last stanza in particular is painfully beautiful.  I can imagine the heartbreak of seeing the knight Lancelot and being punished for taking in the rich colors that make up his appearance and appreciating his gallantry.  I think that the juxtaposition of Sir Lancelot's vigor and the lady's despair accentuates her pain, and even more so in the absence of a transition from one part to the next. 

 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 flam'd upon the brazen greaves

  Of bold Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross 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 from 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 from Camelot.

As often thro' the purple night,

Below the starry clusters bright,

Some bearded meteor, trailing light,

Moves over green 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 from Camelot.

From the bank and from the river

He flash'd into the crystal mirror,

'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:'

Sang Sir Lancelot. 

She left the web, she left the loom

She made three paces thro' the room

She saw the water-flower 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. 

What are your thoughts on Part III?

Is there a particular stanza that strikes you?