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The Collected Works of William Morris

With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris

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But she being gone, all blind with grief,
He stood there long, and muttered:
“Why
Would she not note my misery?

135

Had it been then so hard to turn
And show me that her heart did yearn
For something nigher like mine own?
O well content to leave me lone,
O well content to stand apart,
And nurse a pleasure in thine heart,
The joy of being so well beloved,
Still taking care thou art not moved
By aught like trouble!—yet beware,
For thou mayst fall for all thy care!”