The Collected Works of William Morris With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris |
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 | The Collected Works of William Morris |  |
“And yet the door of many a tale unlocks,
Makes love itself,” saith one, “with all its bliss.”
—Ah, could I speak the word that in me is!—
I dare not, lest to cursing it should turn.
But hearken—if Death verily makes Love burn,
It is because we evermore should cry,
If we had words, that we might never die:
Words fail us: therefore, “O thou Death,” we say,
“Thus do we work that thou mayst take away!
Look at this beauty of young children's mirth,
Soon to be swallowed by thy noiseless dearth!
Look at this faithful love that knows no end
Unless thy cold thrill through it thou shouldst send!
Look at this hand ripening to perfect skill
Unless the fated measure thou didst fill;
This eager knowledge that would stop for nought,
Unless thy net both chase and hunter caught!
—O Death! with deeds like these 'gainst thee we pray,
That thou, like those thou slewest, mayst pass away!”
Makes love itself,” saith one, “with all its bliss.”
—Ah, could I speak the word that in me is!—
I dare not, lest to cursing it should turn.
But hearken—if Death verily makes Love burn,
It is because we evermore should cry,
If we had words, that we might never die:
Words fail us: therefore, “O thou Death,” we say,
“Thus do we work that thou mayst take away!
Look at this beauty of young children's mirth,
Soon to be swallowed by thy noiseless dearth!
Look at this faithful love that knows no end
Unless thy cold thrill through it thou shouldst send!
Look at this hand ripening to perfect skill
329
This eager knowledge that would stop for nought,
Unless thy net both chase and hunter caught!
—O Death! with deeds like these 'gainst thee we pray,
That thou, like those thou slewest, mayst pass away!”
| The Collected Works of William Morris | |