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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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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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INTRODUCTION
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THE SUNDERING FLOOD
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CHAPTER III. WOLVES HARRY THE FLOCK.
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CHAPTER V. OSBERNE SLAYS THE WOLVES.
  
[On the wind-weary bent]
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CHAPTER VI. THEY FARE TO THE CLOVEN MOTE.
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CHAPTER VII. OF A NEWCOMER, AND HIS GIFT TO OSBERNE.
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CHAPTER X. OSBERNE AND ELFHILD HOLD CONVERSE TOGETHER.
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CHAPTER XVII. THE SLAYING OF HARDCASTLE.
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CHAPTER XXIX. OSBERNE AND HIS MEN RETURN TO WETHERMEL.
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CHAPTER XXXVI. THE STAVES WHICH OSBERNE TAUGHT TO THE DALESMEN.
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CHAPTER XXXVII. OSBERNE TAKES LEAVE OF WETHERMEL.
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UNFINISHED ROMANCES
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VOLUME XXIV SCENES FROM THE FALL OF TROY AND OTHER POEMS AND FRAGMENTS

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O love, turn from the unchanging sea, and gaze
Down these grey slopes upon the year grown old,
A-dying mid the autumn-scented haze,
That hangeth o'er the hollow in the wold,
Where the wind-bitten ancient elms enfold
Grey church, long barn, orchard, and red-roofed stead,
Wrought in dead days for men a long while dead.
Come down, O love; may not our hands still meet,
Since still we live to-day, forgetting June,
Forgetting May, deeming October sweet—
—O hearken, hearken! through the afternoon,
The grey tower sings a strange old tinkling tune!
Sweet, sweet, and sad, the toiling year's last breath,
Too satiate of life to strive with death.
And we too—will it not be soft and kind,
That rest from life, from patience and from pain,
That rest from bliss we know not when we find,
That rest from Love which ne'er the end can gain?—
—Hark, how the tune swells, that erewhile did wane!
Look up, love!—ah, cling close and never move!
How can I have enough of life and love?
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