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The Collected Works of William Morris

With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris

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Now with her armed folk forth she rode
Unto that ancient fair abode,
And while the lark sang o'er the corn,
Love gilded not the waning morn;
And when the sun rose high above,
High thoughts she thought, but not of love;
And when that sun the world did leave,
He left no love to light the eve.
The moon no melancholy brought,
The dawn no vain, remorseful thought.
But all untroubled her sweet face
Passed 'neath the gate of that old place,
And there her bridegroom she abode.