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The Collected Works of William Morris

With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris

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She moved not, but a rush of tears
Blinded his eyes, as all the years
With all their pain rose up to him;

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Her head moved then, through foot and limb
A tremor ran, as the tears fell
Upon her hands:
“O love, scarce well,”
He sobbed, “that we should be apart,
My sorrow laid upon thy heart,
And my heart worn with thine, my love—
No word 'twixt lips and lips, to move
The double burden—found at last,
What chain is this that binds thee fast?
Was my great grief so hard to bear
That thou art grown cold? Sweet and dear,
I bore thy grief yet love and live!”