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The Collected Works of William Morris

With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris

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Yet awful was the time indeed,
And of good heart sore had he need:
The wind's moan louder than before,

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Some wave cast higher up the shore,
The night-bird's brushing past his head,—
All little things grew full of dread;
Yet did he waver nought at all,
Or turn, from whatso thing might fall.