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The Collected Works of William Morris

With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris

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So saying, gazing still across the main,
Heavy with days and nights of restless pain,
His eyes waxed dim, and calmer still he grew,
Still pondering over times and things he knew,
While now the sun had sunk behind the hill,
And from a white-thorn nigh a thrush did fill
The balmy air with echoing minstrelsy,
And cool the night-wind blew across the sea,
And round about the soft-winged bats did sweep.