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The Collected Works of William Morris

With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris

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Then though the moon grew dull again, yet she
Ten shapes of armed men at the last could see
Steal up the steps and vanish from the night,
And a sharp pang shot through her; but affright
She felt not now of Gods: she murmured low:
“What do these men-at-arms in such guise now
Amidst the feast? God help me, we are caught
Within a brazen net!”
And with that thought
No more delay she made, but girt her gown
Unto her, and with swift feet went adown
The marble steps, and so from tree to tree,
Through all the darkest shadow, silently
Gained the dark side of the brass temple door;
And through its chink she saw the marble floor
Just feebly lit by some small spark of light
She saw not, and the gleam of armour white,
And knew that she unto the men was close.