The Collected Works of William Morris With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris |
![]() | I. |
![]() | II. |
![]() | III, IV, V, VI. |
![]() | VII. |
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![]() | XIV. |
![]() | XVI. |
![]() | XVII. |
![]() | XVIII. |
![]() | XIX. |
![]() | XXI. |
![]() | XXII. |
![]() | XXIV. |
![]() | XXVII. |
![]() | XXVIII. |
![]() | XXXI. |
![]() | XXXVII. |
![]() | XL. |
![]() | XLVII. |
![]() | XLVIII. |
![]() | LII. |
![]() | LIV. |
![]() | LVII. |
![]() | LIX. |
![]() | LXI. |
![]() | LXII. |
![]() | LXIII. |
![]() | LXVI. |
![]() | LXXIV. |
![]() | LXXVII. |
![]() | LXXXII. |
![]() | LXXXVI. |
![]() | XC. |
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![]() | VIII. |
![]() | XIV. |
![]() | XVII. |
![]() | XIX. |
![]() | XX. |
![]() | XXVII. |
![]() | XXVIII. |
![]() | XXIX. |
![]() | XXX. |
![]() | XXXI. |
![]() | XXXIII. |
![]() | XLIII. |
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![]() | IX. |
![]() | X. |
![]() | XII. |
![]() | XIV. |
![]() | XV. |
![]() | XVI. |
![]() | XVII. |
![]() | XXI. |
![]() | XXIV. |
![]() | The Collected Works of William Morris | ![]() |
“Long lay I there, meseems; no thought I had
Either of death, or yet of being made glad
In time to come, for all had turned to pain,
Nor might I think of aught to call a gain—
Right wondrous is the life of man, O King!
So strong to bear so many a fearful thing,
So weak of will—See now, I live, who lay
How long I know not, on that wretched day,
As helpless as a dead man, but for this,
That pain still grew with memory of what bliss
Past life had been to me; until, God wot,
So was I helped, that memory now was not,
And all was blank.
Either of death, or yet of being made glad
In time to come, for all had turned to pain,
Nor might I think of aught to call a gain—
Right wondrous is the life of man, O King!
So strong to bear so many a fearful thing,
So weak of will—See now, I live, who lay
How long I know not, on that wretched day,
As helpless as a dead man, but for this,
That pain still grew with memory of what bliss
Past life had been to me; until, God wot,
So was I helped, that memory now was not,
And all was blank.
“Well, once more did I wake,
Empty at first, till stirred the sickening ache
Of that great fear; then softly did I rise,
And gazed about the garth with half-dead eyes,
A heart whence everything but fear was gone.”
Empty at first, till stirred the sickening ache
Of that great fear; then softly did I rise,
And gazed about the garth with half-dead eyes,
A heart whence everything but fear was gone.”
![]() | The Collected Works of William Morris | ![]() |