The Collected Works of William Morris With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris |
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 | The Collected Works of William Morris |  |
Winter in the world it is
Round about the unhoped kiss
Whose shadow I have long moaned o'er;
Round about the longing sore
That the touch of thee shall turn
Into joy too deep to burn.
Round thine eyes and round thy mouth
Passeth no murmur of the south,
When my lips a little while
Leave thy quivering tender smile,
As we twain, hand touching hand,
Once again together stand.
Sweet is that as all is sweet;
For the cold drift shalt thou meet,
Kind and cold-cheeked and mine own,
Wrapt about with deep-furred gown
In the wide-wheeled chariot:
Then the north shall spare us not;
The wide-reaching waste of snow
Wilder, lonelier shall grow
As the short-lived sun falls down.
Round about the unhoped kiss
Whose shadow I have long moaned o'er;
Round about the longing sore
That the touch of thee shall turn
Into joy too deep to burn.
Round thine eyes and round thy mouth
Passeth no murmur of the south,
When my lips a little while
Leave thy quivering tender smile,
As we twain, hand touching hand,
Once again together stand.
Sweet is that as all is sweet;
For the cold drift shalt thou meet,
Kind and cold-cheeked and mine own,
Wrapt about with deep-furred gown
In the wide-wheeled chariot:
Then the north shall spare us not;
The wide-reaching waste of snow
Wilder, lonelier shall grow
As the short-lived sun falls down.
But the warders of the town
When they flash the torches out
O'er the snow amid their doubt,
And their eyes at last behold
Thy red-litten hair of gold,
Shall they open, or in fear
Cry, “Alas, what cometh here?
Whence hath come this Heavenly One
To tell of all the world undone?”
They shall open, and we shall see
The long street litten scantily
With the stream of light before
The guest-hall's just opened door,
And our horses' bells shall cease
As we gain the place of peace:
Thou shalt tremble as at last
The worn threshold is o'erpast
And the firelight blindeth thee:
Trembling shalt thou cling to me
As the sleepy merchants stare
At thy cold hands slim and fair,
Thy soft eyes and happy lips
Worth ten times their richest ships.
When they flash the torches out
O'er the snow amid their doubt,
And their eyes at last behold
Thy red-litten hair of gold,
Shall they open, or in fear
Cry, “Alas, what cometh here?
Whence hath come this Heavenly One
To tell of all the world undone?”
270
The long street litten scantily
With the stream of light before
The guest-hall's just opened door,
And our horses' bells shall cease
As we gain the place of peace:
Thou shalt tremble as at last
The worn threshold is o'erpast
And the firelight blindeth thee:
Trembling shalt thou cling to me
As the sleepy merchants stare
At thy cold hands slim and fair,
Thy soft eyes and happy lips
Worth ten times their richest ships.
O my love, how over-sweet
That first kissing of thy feet,
When the fire is sunk alow,
And the hall made empty now
Groweth solemn dim and vast!
O my love, the night shall last
Longer than men tell thereof
Laden with our lonely love!
That first kissing of thy feet,
When the fire is sunk alow,
And the hall made empty now
Groweth solemn dim and vast!
O my love, the night shall last
Longer than men tell thereof
Laden with our lonely love!
| The Collected Works of William Morris | |