The Collected Works of William Morris With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris |
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 | The Collected Works of William Morris |  |
Choked by her passion here awhile she stayed,
And he from off the bench sprang up dismayed,
And turned on her to speak; but she withal
Before him on her knees made haste to fall,
And cried out loud and shrilly: “Nay, nay, nay—
Say not the word thou art about to say;
Let me depart, and things be still as now;
So that my dreams sweet images may show,
As they have done—that waking I may think:
‘If he, my love, from looks of love did shrink,
That was because I had not prayed him then
To be my love alone of living men;
Because he did not know that I, a Queen,
Who hitherto but loveless life have seen,
Could kneel to him, and pray upon my knees
To give me my first pleasure, my first peace’—
Thou knewest not—nay, nay, thou know'st not now—
Thou with the angry eyes and bended brow!—
Surely I talk my mother-tongue no more,
Therefore thou knowest not that I implore
Thy pity, that I give myself to thee,
Thy love, thy slave, thy castaway to be—
Hear'st thou? thy castaway! when in a while
Thou growest weary of my loving smile!
Oh, take me, madman! In a year or twain
I will not thwart thee if thou lov'st again,
Nor eye thee sourly when thou growest cold;
—Or art thou not the man that men call bold,
And fear'st thou? Then what better time than this
For we twain to begin our life of bliss?
Thy keel awaits thee, and to thee alone,
Not to the wretched dastard on the throne,
Thy men will hearken—Nay, thou shalt not speak,
My feeble reed of hope thou shalt not break!—
Let me be gone, thou knowest not of love,
Thou semblance of a man that nought can move!
O wise, wise man, I give thee good farewell:
Gather fresh wisdom, thinking of my hell.”
And he from off the bench sprang up dismayed,
97
Before him on her knees made haste to fall,
And cried out loud and shrilly: “Nay, nay, nay—
Say not the word thou art about to say;
Let me depart, and things be still as now;
So that my dreams sweet images may show,
As they have done—that waking I may think:
‘If he, my love, from looks of love did shrink,
That was because I had not prayed him then
To be my love alone of living men;
Because he did not know that I, a Queen,
Who hitherto but loveless life have seen,
Could kneel to him, and pray upon my knees
To give me my first pleasure, my first peace’—
Thou knewest not—nay, nay, thou know'st not now—
Thou with the angry eyes and bended brow!—
Surely I talk my mother-tongue no more,
Therefore thou knowest not that I implore
Thy pity, that I give myself to thee,
Thy love, thy slave, thy castaway to be—
Hear'st thou? thy castaway! when in a while
Thou growest weary of my loving smile!
Oh, take me, madman! In a year or twain
I will not thwart thee if thou lov'st again,
Nor eye thee sourly when thou growest cold;
—Or art thou not the man that men call bold,
And fear'st thou? Then what better time than this
For we twain to begin our life of bliss?
Thy keel awaits thee, and to thee alone,
Not to the wretched dastard on the throne,
Thy men will hearken—Nay, thou shalt not speak,
My feeble reed of hope thou shalt not break!—
Let me be gone, thou knowest not of love,
Thou semblance of a man that nought can move!
O wise, wise man, I give thee good farewell:
Gather fresh wisdom, thinking of my hell.”
| The Collected Works of William Morris | |