 | A collection of poems by Ernest Radford |  |
8
WILLIAM MORRIS.
Sweet Thames, flow softly as my tears flow.
To Kelmscott Manor, this October morn,
To rest beside thee is my master borne,
And I of those who loved him, may not go.
To Kelmscott Manor, this October morn,
To rest beside thee is my master borne,
And I of those who loved him, may not go.
Because he sorrows best at home, they say,
Who grieves in silence, leaving all unsaid,
Because perhaps, since London gives him bread,
He may not leave her, even for a day.
Who grieves in silence, leaving all unsaid,
Because perhaps, since London gives him bread,
He may not leave her, even for a day.
They would have died to save him who have borne
The brunt of this long battle with the foe;
And they are with him:—naught of empty show
At Kelmscott Manor, this October morn.
The brunt of this long battle with the foe;
And they are with him:—naught of empty show
At Kelmscott Manor, this October morn.
Oct. 6, 1896.
| A collection of poems by Ernest Radford | |