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The Collected Works of William Morris

With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris
Morris, William (1834-1896)

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VOLUME I THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE AND OTHER POEMS
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VOLUME II THE LIFE AND DEATH OF JASON
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VOLUME III, IV, V, VI THE EARTHLY PARADISE
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VOLUME VII THE STORY OF GRETTIR THE STRONG. THE STORY OF THE VOLSUNGS AND NIBLUNGS
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VOLUME IX LOVE IS ENOUGH. POEMS BY THE WAY
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VOLUME X THREE NORTHERN LOVE STORIES. THE TALE OF BEOWULF
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THREE NORTHERN LOVE STORIES AND OTHER TALES TRANSLATED FROM THE ICELANDIC BY EIRÍKR MAGNÚSSON AND WILLIAM MORRIS
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THE STORY OF GUNNLAUG THE WORM-TONGUE AND RAVEN THE SKALD
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THE STORY OF FRITHIOF THE BOLD
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CHAPTER V. THOSE BRETHREN COME HOME AGAIN.
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CHAPTER VI. FRITHIOF SAILS FOR THE ORKNEYS.
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CHAPTER VII. FRITHIOF AT THE ORKNEYS.
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CHAP. IX. FRITHIOF BRINGS THE TRIBUTE TO THE KINGS.
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CHAPTER X. FRITHIOF MADE AN OUTLAW.
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CHAPTER XI. FRITHIOF FARETH TO SEE KING RING AND INGIBIORG.
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CHAP. XIV. KING RING'S GIFT TO FRITHIOF.
  
[“Have great thanks for the guesting]
  
[“Oh, live, King Ring]
  
[“Fare not away]
  
[“Nay, how from thine hands]
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THE STORY OF VIGLUND THE FAIR
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THE TALE OF HOGNI AND HEDINN
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THE TALE OF BEOWULF SOMETIME KING OF THE FOLK OF THE WEDER GEATS. TRANSLATED BY WILLIAM MORRIS AND A. J. WYATT
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VOLUME XII THE STORY OF SIGURD THE VOLSUNG AND THE FALL OF THE NIBLUNGS
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VOLUME XIV THE HOUSE OF THE WOLFINGS. THE STORY OF THE GLITTERING PLAIN
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VOLUME XV THE ROOTS OF THE MOUNTAINS
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VOLUME XVI NEWS FROM NOWHERE. A DREAM OF JOHN BALL. A KING'S LESSON
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VOLUME XVII THE WOOD BEYOND THE WORLD. CHILD CHRISTOPHER. OLD FRENCH ROMANCES
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VOLUME XXI THE SUNDERING FLOOD. UNFINISHED ROMANCES
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VOLUME XXIV SCENES FROM THE FALL OF TROY AND OTHER POEMS AND FRAGMENTS

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O June, O June, that we desired so,
Wilt thou not make us happy on this day?
Across the river thy soft breezes blow
Sweet with the scent of beanfields far away,
Above our heads rustle the aspens grey,
Calm is the sky with harmless clouds beset,
No thought of storm the morning vexes yet.
See, we have left our hopes and fears behind
To give our very hearts up unto thee;
What better place than this then could we find
By this sweet stream that knows not of the sea,
That guesses not the city's misery,
This little stream whose hamlets scarce have names,
This far-off, lonely mother of the Thames?
Here then, O June, thy kindness will we take;
And if indeed but pensive men we seem,
What should we do? thou wouldst not have us wake
From out the arms of this rare happy dream
And wish to leave the murmur of the stream,
The rustling boughs, the twitter of the birds,
And all thy thousand peaceful happy words.
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