The Collected Works of William Morris With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris |
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 | The Collected Works of William Morris |  |
But ere their fair young mouths might kiss,
While hand stole unto hand, and breath
Met breath, the image of cold death,
With his estranging agonies,
Smote on her heart that once was wise;
As touched by some sharp sudden sting,
Back from her love's arms did she spring,
And stood there trembling; and her cry
Rang through the morn:
While hand stole unto hand, and breath
Met breath, the image of cold death,
With his estranging agonies,
Smote on her heart that once was wise;
As touched by some sharp sudden sting,
Back from her love's arms did she spring,
And stood there trembling; and her cry
Rang through the morn:
“Why shouldst thou die
Amidst thy late-won joy?” she said,
“And must I see thee stark and dead
Who have beheld thy gathering bliss?
Touch me no more yet—so it is
That thy fierce heart hath conquered me,
That I no more may look on thee
Without desire—for such an end
I hitherward, belike, did wend,
Led on by fate, and knew it not—
But if thy love is e'en as hot
As thine eyes say, what wilt thou do?
Loved or loved not, still is it so,
That in thy land I may not live.
Too strong thou art that I should strive
With thee and love—Yet what say'st thou?
Art thou content thy love to throw
Unto the waste of time, and dwell
Here in thy land, and fare right well,
Feared, hated maybe, yet through all
A conquering man, whate'er shall fall?
—Or, in mine own land be mine own,
Live long, perchance, yet all unknown,
Love for thy master and thy law,
Nor hope another lot to draw
From out life's urn?—Think of it, then!
Be great among the sons of men
Because I love thee, and forget
That here amid the hay we met—
Or else be loved and love, the while
Life's vision doth thine eyes beguile.”
Amidst thy late-won joy?” she said,
“And must I see thee stark and dead
Who have beheld thy gathering bliss?
Touch me no more yet—so it is
That thy fierce heart hath conquered me,
That I no more may look on thee
Without desire—for such an end
I hitherward, belike, did wend,
44
But if thy love is e'en as hot
As thine eyes say, what wilt thou do?
Loved or loved not, still is it so,
That in thy land I may not live.
Too strong thou art that I should strive
With thee and love—Yet what say'st thou?
Art thou content thy love to throw
Unto the waste of time, and dwell
Here in thy land, and fare right well,
Feared, hated maybe, yet through all
A conquering man, whate'er shall fall?
—Or, in mine own land be mine own,
Live long, perchance, yet all unknown,
Love for thy master and thy law,
Nor hope another lot to draw
From out life's urn?—Think of it, then!
Be great among the sons of men
Because I love thee, and forget
That here amid the hay we met—
Or else be loved and love, the while
Life's vision doth thine eyes beguile.”
| The Collected Works of William Morris | |