The Collected Works of William Morris With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III, IV, V, VI. |
| VII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
 | XXI. |
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| III. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| X. |
| XVII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
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| XXIV. |
 | The Collected Works of William Morris |  |
How might he tell if aught could move
Her grief-chilled heart; yet love slew fear,
Lulled speech to sleep—sweet to be near;
Yea, e'en if all were changed, if all
Into this dumb, strange life must fall,
And all the longing and the pain
For signs of love were spent in vain;
If, in strange wise together brought,
They were apart still, and still nought
Might tell of better hope! O sweet
Beyond all words, there at her feet
To lie and watch her! By what word
Might his deep love be better heard
Than by that silence!
Her grief-chilled heart; yet love slew fear,
Lulled speech to sleep—sweet to be near;
Yea, e'en if all were changed, if all
Into this dumb, strange life must fall,
And all the longing and the pain
For signs of love were spent in vain;
If, in strange wise together brought,
They were apart still, and still nought
Might tell of better hope! O sweet
Beyond all words, there at her feet
To lie and watch her! By what word
Might his deep love be better heard
Than by that silence!
Nought he said
A long while, and her weary head
Hung low, and still she saw him not.
At last the heart in him waxed hot,
And he cried out:
A long while, and her weary head
Hung low, and still she saw him not.
At last the heart in him waxed hot,
And he cried out:
“Time long ago,
How long, how long, I know not now,
I sinned and lost thee: scarce a hope
Was left with the dull years to cope;
Yet this my hand now touches thee,
My cheek is laid upon thy knee;
I am thy love, belovèd, come,
I know not how, to thy new home!”
How long, how long, I know not now,
I sinned and lost thee: scarce a hope
Was left with the dull years to cope;
Yet this my hand now touches thee,
My cheek is laid upon thy knee;
I am thy love, belovèd, come,
I know not how, to thy new home!”
| The Collected Works of William Morris | |