The Collected Works of William Morris With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris |
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 | III, IV, V, VI. |
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| III. |
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| IV. |
| VII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XXI. |
| XXIV. |
 | CHAPTER XLV. OF FACE-OF-GOD'S ONSLAUGHT.
The Collected Works of William Morris |  |
[A Song of the harvest.]
The wheat is done blooming and rust's on the sickle,
And green are the meadows grown after the scythe.
Come, hands for the dance! For the toil hath been mickle,
And 'twixt haysel and harvest 'tis time to be blithe.
And green are the meadows grown after the scythe.
Come, hands for the dance! For the toil hath been mickle,
And 'twixt haysel and harvest 'tis time to be blithe.
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And what shall the tale be now dancing is over,
And kind on the meadow sits maiden by man,
And the old man bethinks him of days of the lover,
And the warrior remembers the field that he wan?
And kind on the meadow sits maiden by man,
And the old man bethinks him of days of the lover,
And the warrior remembers the field that he wan?
Shall we tell of the dear days wherein we are dwelling,
The best days of our Mother, the cherishing Dale,
When all round about us the summer is telling,
To ears that may hearken, the heart of the tale?
The best days of our Mother, the cherishing Dale,
When all round about us the summer is telling,
To ears that may hearken, the heart of the tale?
Shall we sing of these hands and these lips that caress us,
And the limbs that sun-dappled lie light here beside,
When still in the morning they rise but to bless us,
And oft in the midnight our footsteps abide?
And the limbs that sun-dappled lie light here beside,
When still in the morning they rise but to bless us,
And oft in the midnight our footsteps abide?
O nay, but to tell of the fathers were better,
And of how we were fashioned from out of the earth;
Of how the once lowly spurned strong at the fetter;
Of the days of the deeds and beginning of mirth.
And of how we were fashioned from out of the earth;
Of how the once lowly spurned strong at the fetter;
Of the days of the deeds and beginning of mirth.
And then when the feast-tide is done in the morning,
Shall we whet the grey sickle that bideth the wheat,
Till wan grow the edges, and gleam forth a warning
Of the field and the fallow where edges shall meet.
Shall we whet the grey sickle that bideth the wheat,
Till wan grow the edges, and gleam forth a warning
Of the field and the fallow where edges shall meet.
And when cometh the harvest, and hook upon shoulder
We enter the red wheat from out of the road,
We shall sing, as we wend, of the bold and the bolder,
And the Burg of their building, the beauteous abode.
We enter the red wheat from out of the road,
We shall sing, as we wend, of the bold and the bolder,
And the Burg of their building, the beauteous abode.
As smiteth the sickle amid the sun's burning
We shall sing how the sun saw the token unfurled,
When forth fared the Folk, with no thought of returning,
In the days when the Banner went wide in the world.
We shall sing how the sun saw the token unfurled,
When forth fared the Folk, with no thought of returning,
In the days when the Banner went wide in the world.
| CHAPTER XLV. OF FACE-OF-GOD'S ONSLAUGHT.
The Collected Works of William Morris | |