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The Collected Works of William Morris

With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris

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A shout rose when his last clear word was done,
And at his back went rolling down the way
Mingled with the clash of arms, for, sooth to say,
Hard had he laboured ere the dark night fell,
And thus had gathered men who loved him well,
Stout hearts to whom more fair it seemed to be
The face of death in stricken field to see
Than in that place to bide, till Artemis
Had utterly consumed all hope of bliss
With some unknown, unheard-of shape of fear.