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 |  |
So from the place he turned away;
Some secret spell he deemed there lay,
Some bar unseen, athwart that grass,
O'er which his feet might never pass
Whatso his heart bade. Hour by hour
Passed of the day, and ever slower
They seemed to drag, and ever he
Thought of her last look wearily—
Now meant it that, now meant it this;
Now bliss, and now the death of bliss.
“But O, if once again,” he thought,
“Face unto face we might be brought,
Then doubt I not but I should read
What at her hands would be my meed,
And in such wise my life would guide;
Either the weary end to bide
E'en as I might, or strengthen me
To take the sweet felicity,
Casting by thought of fear or death—
But now when I must hold my breath,
Who knows how long, while scale mocks scale
With trembling joy, and trembling bale—
O hard to bear! O hard to bear!”
Some secret spell he deemed there lay,
Some bar unseen, athwart that grass,
O'er which his feet might never pass
Whatso his heart bade. Hour by hour
Passed of the day, and ever slower
They seemed to drag, and ever he
Thought of her last look wearily—
Now meant it that, now meant it this;
Now bliss, and now the death of bliss.
“But O, if once again,” he thought,
“Face unto face we might be brought,
Then doubt I not but I should read
What at her hands would be my meed,
And in such wise my life would guide;
Either the weary end to bide
E'en as I might, or strengthen me
To take the sweet felicity,
Casting by thought of fear or death—
But now when I must hold my breath,
Who knows how long, while scale mocks scale
With trembling joy, and trembling bale—
O hard to bear! O hard to bear!”
| The Collected Works of William Morris | |