The Collected Works of William Morris With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris |
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 | The Collected Works of William Morris |  |
O ye, who sit alone And bend above the earth
So great that the world's gain Is but a hollow dearth,
And pain forgot like laughter, And love of fleeting worth,
Did ye teach me how to sing Or where else did I gain
The tears slow-born of bliss, The sweetness drawn from pain?
So great that the world's gain Is but a hollow dearth,
And pain forgot like laughter, And love of fleeting worth,
Did ye teach me how to sing Or where else did I gain
The tears slow-born of bliss, The sweetness drawn from pain?
I stand alone and longing Nor know if aught doth live
Except myself and sorrow Nor know with whom to strive,
Nor know if ye have might To hold back or to give,
Nor know if ye can love, Or what your hate shall be
Or if ye are my foes, Or the love that burns in me.
Except myself and sorrow Nor know with whom to strive,
Nor know if ye have might To hold back or to give,
Nor know if ye can love, Or what your hate shall be
Or if ye are my foes, Or the love that burns in me.
Can ye hearken as men hearken, Can I move you as erewhile
I moved the happy kings, And the wise men did beguile?
When the lover unbeloved Must sigh with rest and smile
For the sweetness of the song That made not light of woe,
And the youngling stand apart, And learn that life must go.
I moved the happy kings, And the wise men did beguile?
When the lover unbeloved Must sigh with rest and smile
For the sweetness of the song That made not light of woe,
And the youngling stand apart, And learn that life must go.
254
O ye who ne'er were fettered, By the bonds of time and ill,
Give give, if ye are worthy Or leave me worthier still:
For the measure of my love No gain of love should fill.
If I held the hands I love, If I pressed her who is gone,
Living, breathing, to my breast, Not e'en so were all well won.
Give give, if ye are worthy Or leave me worthier still:
For the measure of my love No gain of love should fill.
If I held the hands I love, If I pressed her who is gone,
Living, breathing, to my breast, Not e'en so were all well won.
O be satisfied with this, That no end my longing knows
If the years might not be counted, For we twain to sit all close
As on earth we sat a little Twixt the lily and the rose,
Sat a little and were gone Ere we mingled in the strife,
Ere we learned how best to love, Ere we knew the ways of life.
If the years might not be counted, For we twain to sit all close
As on earth we sat a little Twixt the lily and the rose,
Sat a little and were gone Ere we mingled in the strife,
Ere we learned how best to love, Ere we knew the ways of life.
Folk pray to us of earth To be loved, and sick at heart
Must turn their eyes away, And from every hope depart:
We are lone who cannot give, And grow hard beneath the smart
But ye have wealth and might, Ye can hearken and can give,
What gain is there in death? O be wise and make alive!
Must turn their eyes away, And from every hope depart:
We are lone who cannot give, And grow hard beneath the smart
But ye have wealth and might, Ye can hearken and can give,
What gain is there in death? O be wise and make alive!
| The Collected Works of William Morris | |