The Collected Works of William Morris :: :: University of Virginia Library

O white, white Sun, what things of wonder
Hast thou beheld from thy wall of the sky!
All the Roofs of the Rich and the grief thereunder,
As the fear of the Earl-folk flitteth by!

Thou hast seen the Flame steal forth from the Forest
To slay the slumber of the lands,
As the Dusky Lord whom thou abhorrest
Clomb up to thy Burg unbuilt with hands.

Thou lookest down from thy door the golden,
Nor batest thy wide-shining mirth,
As the ramparts fall, and the roof-trees olden
Lie smouldering low on the burning earth.

When flitteth the half-dark night of summer
From the face of the murder great and grim,
'Tis thou thyself and no new-comer
Shines golden-bright on the deed undim.

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Art thou our friend, O Day-dawn's Lover?
Full oft thine hand hath sent aslant
Bright beams athwart the Wood-bear's cover,
Where the feeble folk and the nameless haunt.

Thou hast seen us quail, thou hast seen us cower,
Thou hast seen us crouch in the Green Abode,
While for us wert thou slaying slow hour by hour,
And smoothing down the war-rough road.

Yea, the rocks of the Waste were thy Dawns upheaving,
To let the days of the years go through;
And thy Noons the tangled brake were cleaving
The slow-foot seasons' deed to do.

Then gaze adown on this gift of our giving,
For the WOLF comes wending frith and ford,
And the Folk fares forth from the dead to the living,
For the love of the Lief by the light of the Sword.