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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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THE STORY OF VIGLUND THE FAIR
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CHAPTER V. THE WEDDING OF OLOF SUNBEAM.
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CHAPTER XI. THE BREWING OF A WITCH-STORM
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CHAPTER XII. OF HAKON THE EAST-MAN.
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CHAPTER XIV. KETILRID BETROTHED TO HAKON.
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CHAPTER XVII. THE PARTING OF VIGLUND AND KETILRID.
  
[“Maiden, my songs remember]
  
[“A little way I led him]
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CHAPTER XX. VIGLUND COMES OUT TO ICELAND AGAIN.
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CHAPTER XXI. GUESTING AT GAUTWICK.
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CHAPTER XXII. A WEDDING AT GAUTWICK.
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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 come at last, to whom the springtide's hope
Looked for through blossoms, what hast thou for me?
Green grows the grass upon the dewy slope
Beneath thy gold-hung, grey-leaved apple-tree
Moveless, e'en as the autumn fain would be
That shades its sad eyes from the rising sun
And weeps at eve because the day is done.
What vision wilt thou give me, autumn morn,
To make thy pensive sweetness more complete?
What tale, ne'er to be told, of folk unborn?
What images of grey-clad damsels sweet
Shall cross thy sward with dainty noiseless feet?
What nameless shamefast longings made alive,
Soft-eyed September, will thy sad heart give?
Look long, O longing eyes, and look in vain!
Strain idly, aching heart, and yet be wise,
And hope no more for things to come again
That thou beheldest once with careless eyes!
Like a new-wakened man thou art, who tries
To dream again the dream that made him glad
When in his arms his loving love he had.
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