The Collected Works of William Morris With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris |
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| II. |
| III, IV, V, VI. |
| VII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
 | XXI. |
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| XXIV. |
 | The Collected Works of William Morris |  |
The days passed—growing sweeter as the year
Declined through autumn into winter-tide;
Perchance: for though no day could be so dear
As that whereon he first had seen his bride,
Yet still no less did love with him abide,
Tempered with quiet days and restfulness;
Desire fulfilled, renewed, his life did bless.
Declined through autumn into winter-tide;
Perchance: for though no day could be so dear
As that whereon he first had seen his bride,
Yet still no less did love with him abide,
Tempered with quiet days and restfulness;
Desire fulfilled, renewed, his life did bless.
And thereto now were added other joys,
Her gifts indeed, unmeet for him to scorn:
The judgment-seat, the tourney's glorious noise,
The council wherein were the wise laws born;
Sweet tales of lovers vanquished and forlorn,
To make bliss greater when these lovers met,
Silent, alone, all troubles to forget—
Her gifts indeed, unmeet for him to scorn:
The judgment-seat, the tourney's glorious noise,
The council wherein were the wise laws born;
Sweet tales of lovers vanquished and forlorn,
To make bliss greater when these lovers met,
Silent, alone, all troubles to forget—
All troubles to forget—the winter went,
Spring came, and love seemed worthier therewith weighed;
The summer came, and brought no discontent,
Nor yet with autumn's fading did love fade,
And the cold winter love the warmer made.
—So Bharam said, when round his love he clung,
And lonely, still such words were on his tongue.
Spring came, and love seemed worthier therewith weighed;
The summer came, and brought no discontent,
Nor yet with autumn's fading did love fade,
And the cold winter love the warmer made.
—So Bharam said, when round his love he clung,
And lonely, still such words were on his tongue.
At last from this and that (it boots not now
To tell the why and wherefore of the thing),
Great war and strife with other lands did grow,
And weeping she around his neck must cling,
Bidding him look for such a welcoming
When he came back again, as should outdo
The day that made one heart and life of two.
To tell the why and wherefore of the thing),
Great war and strife with other lands did grow,
And weeping she around his neck must cling,
Bidding him look for such a welcoming
When he came back again, as should outdo
The day that made one heart and life of two.
194
Nor did this fail: tried at all points was he,
He met the foe, and, beaten back with shame,
Snatched from victorious hands the victory,
And, winner of a great and godlike name,
Sighing with love, back to his love he came,
Worthy of love and changed by love indeed,
And with most glorious love to be his meed.
He met the foe, and, beaten back with shame,
Snatched from victorious hands the victory,
And, winner of a great and godlike name,
Sighing with love, back to his love he came,
Worthy of love and changed by love indeed,
And with most glorious love to be his meed.
—Ah, changed by love—the fickle careless earth,
The deeds of men, the troubles that they had,
That in first love he held of little worth,
Now like a well-told tale would make him glad,
And nought therein to him seemed lost or bad;
“And love,” he said, “my joyous life doth bound,
E'en as the sea some fair isle flows around.”
The deeds of men, the troubles that they had,
That in first love he held of little worth,
Now like a well-told tale would make him glad,
And nought therein to him seemed lost or bad;
“And love,” he said, “my joyous life doth bound,
E'en as the sea some fair isle flows around.”
—“Love flows around”—alas, as time went on
Some strong career of striving would he stay,
And falter e'en at point of victory won,
And well-nigh cast the longed-for thing away:
“Nay, let me think of love,” then would he say.
“Ah, I have swerved from singleness of heart,
Let me return, nor in these things have part.”
Some strong career of striving would he stay,
And falter e'en at point of victory won,
And well-nigh cast the longed-for thing away:
“Nay, let me think of love,” then would he say.
“Ah, I have swerved from singleness of heart,
Let me return, nor in these things have part.”
“Let me return”—but, ah, what thing was this?
That in his love's arms he would feel the sting
Of vain desire, and ne'er-accomplished bliss.
—At whiles, indeed—for he had strength to fling
All thought away, and to his love to cling.
—At least as yet, and still he seemed to be
Dowered with the depth of all felicity.
That in his love's arms he would feel the sting
Of vain desire, and ne'er-accomplished bliss.
—At whiles, indeed—for he had strength to fling
All thought away, and to his love to cling.
—At least as yet, and still he seemed to be
Dowered with the depth of all felicity.
So passed the time, till he two years had been
Living that joyous life in that fair land,
When on a day there came to him the Queen,
And said: “Fair love, all folk bow 'neath the hand
Of this or that, and I, at the command
Of one whose will I dare not disobey,
Must leave thee lonely till the hundredth day.
Living that joyous life in that fair land,
When on a day there came to him the Queen,
And said: “Fair love, all folk bow 'neath the hand
Of this or that, and I, at the command
Of one whose will I dare not disobey,
Must leave thee lonely till the hundredth day.
195
“Nay, now, forbear to ask me why I go!
Thou know'st all things are thine that I have got,
Nathless this one thing never shalt thou know,
Unless the love grow cold that once was hot,
And thou art grown aweary of thy lot.
Ah, love, forgive me! for thy kiss is sweet,
As cool fresh streams to bruised and weary feet.
Thou know'st all things are thine that I have got,
Nathless this one thing never shalt thou know,
Unless the love grow cold that once was hot,
And thou art grown aweary of thy lot.
Ah, love, forgive me! for thy kiss is sweet,
As cool fresh streams to bruised and weary feet.
“Yet one more word; the room where thou and I
Were left alone that day of all sweet days;
Enter it not, till that time is passed by
I told thee of, and many weary ways
My feet have worn, to meet thy loving gaze;
For surely as thy foot therein shall tread,
Thou unto me, as I to thee, art dead.
Were left alone that day of all sweet days;
Enter it not, till that time is passed by
I told thee of, and many weary ways
My feet have worn, to meet thy loving gaze;
For surely as thy foot therein shall tread,
Thou unto me, as I to thee, art dead.
“And yet, for fear of base and prying folk,
Needs must thou bear about that chamber's key.
Ah, love, farewell! no hard or troublous yoke
Thou hast to bear, nor have I doubt of thee.
For all the stream of tears that thou dost see,
They are love's offspring only, for my heart
Yet more than heretofore in thine has part.”
Needs must thou bear about that chamber's key.
Ah, love, farewell! no hard or troublous yoke
Thou hast to bear, nor have I doubt of thee.
For all the stream of tears that thou dost see,
They are love's offspring only, for my heart
Yet more than heretofore in thine has part.”
Thus did she go, and he so left behind,
Mourned for her and desired her very sore,
Yet, with a pang, he felt that he was blind,
Despite of words, that yet there was a store
Of some undreamed-of and victorious lore
He must not touch—frowning he turned away,
And seemed a troubled, gloomy man that day.
Mourned for her and desired her very sore,
Yet, with a pang, he felt that he was blind,
Despite of words, that yet there was a store
Of some undreamed-of and victorious lore
He must not touch—frowning he turned away,
And seemed a troubled, gloomy man that day.
Yet loyally for many days he dwelt
Within that house, or from his golden throne
Good justice to the thronging people dealt;
But when night came, and he was left alone,
Then all that splendour scarcely seemed his own;
And when he fell to thinking of his love,
He 'gan to wish that he his heart might prove.
Within that house, or from his golden throne
Good justice to the thronging people dealt;
But when night came, and he was left alone,
Then all that splendour scarcely seemed his own;
And when he fell to thinking of his love,
He 'gan to wish that he his heart might prove.
196
In agony he strove to cast from him
Fresh doubts of what she was, and all his tale
Rose up once more now vague indeed and dim,
Yet worse therefor perchance—if he should fail,
And in some half-remembered hell go wail
His happy lot, the days that might have been!
Was she his bane?—his life, his love, his queen.
Fresh doubts of what she was, and all his tale
Rose up once more now vague indeed and dim,
Yet worse therefor perchance—if he should fail,
And in some half-remembered hell go wail
His happy lot, the days that might have been!
Was she his bane?—his life, his love, his queen.
Then would he image forth her body fair,
And limb by limb would set before his eyes
Her loveliness as he had seen it there;
Then cry, “Why think of these vain mysteries
When still ahead such happy life there lies?
And yet, and yet, this that doth so outshine
All other beauty, is it wholly mine?
And limb by limb would set before his eyes
Her loveliness as he had seen it there;
Then cry, “Why think of these vain mysteries
When still ahead such happy life there lies?
And yet, and yet, this that doth so outshine
All other beauty, is it wholly mine?
“How can it change, that throne of loveliness?
How can it change—but I grow old and die.
Perchance some other heart those eyes shall bless,
Some other head upon that bosom lie,
When all that once I was is long gone by:
And now—what memory through my mind has passed
Of men from some strange heaven of love outcast?
How can it change—but I grow old and die.
Perchance some other heart those eyes shall bless,
Some other head upon that bosom lie,
When all that once I was is long gone by:
And now—what memory through my mind has passed
Of men from some strange heaven of love outcast?
“Who knows but in that chamber I may find
The clue unto this tangled, weary maze,
And vision clear, whereas I now am blind,
And endless love instead of anxious days—
A glorious end to all these dark strange ways?
Perchance those words she did but say to me,
To try my heart—did she not give the key?”
The clue unto this tangled, weary maze,
And vision clear, whereas I now am blind,
And endless love instead of anxious days—
A glorious end to all these dark strange ways?
Perchance those words she did but say to me,
To try my heart—did she not give the key?”
So passed the days, and sometimes would he strive
To think of nothing but her dear return,
And midst of kingly deeds would think to live,
But then again full oft his heart would burn
The uttermost of all the thing to learn;
Love failed him not, but baneful jealousy
Had scaled his golden throne and sat thereby.
To think of nothing but her dear return,
And midst of kingly deeds would think to live,
But then again full oft his heart would burn
The uttermost of all the thing to learn;
Love failed him not, but baneful jealousy
Had scaled his golden throne and sat thereby.
197
Now he began to wander nigh the door,
And draw from out its place the golden key,
And curse the gift, and wish the days passed o'er,
Till in his arms his love once more should be;
Yet still he dreaded what his eyes should see
In those familiar and belovèd eyes,
Changed now perchance in some unlooked-for wise.
And draw from out its place the golden key,
And curse the gift, and wish the days passed o'er,
Till in his arms his love once more should be;
Yet still he dreaded what his eyes should see
In those familiar and belovèd eyes,
Changed now perchance in some unlooked-for wise.
At last a day came: on the morn of it
Did he arise from haggard dreamful sleep,
And on the throne of justice did he sit,
In troublous outward things his soul to steep;
Then, armed, upon his war-horse did he leap,
And in the lists right eagerly did play,
As one who every care hath cast away.
Did he arise from haggard dreamful sleep,
And on the throne of justice did he sit,
In troublous outward things his soul to steep;
Then, armed, upon his war-horse did he leap,
And in the lists right eagerly did play,
As one who every care hath cast away.
Then came the evening banquet, and he sat
To watch the dancers' gold-adornèd feet,
And with his great men talked of this and that,
Then rose, with gold a minstrel-man to greet,
Then listened to his pensive song and sweet
With serious eyes, and still in everything
He seemed an unrebuked and glorious king.
To watch the dancers' gold-adornèd feet,
And with his great men talked of this and that,
Then rose, with gold a minstrel-man to greet,
Then listened to his pensive song and sweet
With serious eyes, and still in everything
He seemed an unrebuked and glorious king.
But at the dead of night was he alone
Once more, once more within his wavering heart
Strange thought against confusèd thought was thrown,
Nor knew he how real life from dreams to part,
All seemed to him a picture made by art,
Except the overwhelming strong desire
To know the end, that set his heart afire.
Once more, once more within his wavering heart
Strange thought against confusèd thought was thrown,
Nor knew he how real life from dreams to part,
All seemed to him a picture made by art,
Except the overwhelming strong desire
To know the end, that set his heart afire.
Dawn found him thus; then he arose from bed,
He kissed her picture hanging on the wall,
The linen things that veiled her goodlihead
From all but him, and still, like bitterest gall,
A thought rose up within him therewithal,
And strangely was his heart confused with fears
That checked the rise of tender, loving tears.
He kissed her picture hanging on the wall,
The linen things that veiled her goodlihead
From all but him, and still, like bitterest gall,
A thought rose up within him therewithal,
And strangely was his heart confused with fears
That checked the rise of tender, loving tears.
198
He gat the golden key into his hand,
And once more had a glimmering memory
Of how just so he once before did stand,
Ready another golden key to try;
Then murmured he: “Gat I not bliss thereby?
Unless all this is such a gleam of thought,
That to a man's mind sometimes will be brought,
And once more had a glimmering memory
Of how just so he once before did stand,
Ready another golden key to try;
Then murmured he: “Gat I not bliss thereby?
Unless all this is such a gleam of thought,
That to a man's mind sometimes will be brought,
“Of how he lived before, he knows not where.”
So saying, from the chamber did he pass,
And went a long way down a cloister fair,
And o'er a little pleasance of green grass,
Until anigh the very door he was
That hid that mystery from him; there he stayed,
And in his hand the golden key he weighed.
So saying, from the chamber did he pass,
And went a long way down a cloister fair,
And o'er a little pleasance of green grass,
Until anigh the very door he was
That hid that mystery from him; there he stayed,
And in his hand the golden key he weighed.
There stood he, trying hard to think thereof,
The better and the worse, how all would be
If he should do the deed, but thought would move
From this thing unto that confusedly,
And neither past nor future could he see,
Nay scarce could say of what thing then he thought,
Such fever now the fierce desire had wrought.
The better and the worse, how all would be
If he should do the deed, but thought would move
From this thing unto that confusedly,
And neither past nor future could he see,
Nay scarce could say of what thing then he thought,
Such fever now the fierce desire had wrought.
Not long he lingered, in the lock he set
The golden key, as one constrained thereto,
And thrust the door back, and with scared eyes met
The lovely chamber that so well he knew,
And therein still was all in order due,
No deathlike image seared his wondering eyes,
No strange sound smote his ears with ill surprise.
The golden key, as one constrained thereto,
And thrust the door back, and with scared eyes met
The lovely chamber that so well he knew,
And therein still was all in order due,
No deathlike image seared his wondering eyes,
No strange sound smote his ears with ill surprise.
He sighed, and smiled, as one would say, “Ah, why
Have I feared this, wherein was nought to fear,
Wrapping familiar things in mystery?”
And even therewithal did he draw near
To well-remembered things his soul held dear,
Gazing at all those matters one by one,
That told of sweet things there in past days done.
Have I feared this, wherein was nought to fear,
Wrapping familiar things in mystery?”
And even therewithal did he draw near
To well-remembered things his soul held dear,
Gazing at all those matters one by one,
That told of sweet things there in past days done.
199
There in the grey light were the hangings fair,
No figure in them changed now any whit,
The marble floor half hid with carpets rare
E'en as when first he saw her feet on it;
A grey moth's whirring wings indeed did flit
Across the fair bed's gleaming canopy,
But yet no other change had passed thereby.
No figure in them changed now any whit,
The marble floor half hid with carpets rare
E'en as when first he saw her feet on it;
A grey moth's whirring wings indeed did flit
Across the fair bed's gleaming canopy,
But yet no other change had passed thereby.
And by the bed upon the floor there lay
Soft raiment of his love, as though that she
Had there unclad her, ere she went away.
He stopped and touched the fair things tenderly,
And love swept over him as some grey sea
Sweeps o'er the dry shells of a sandy bank,
And with dry lips his own salt tears he drank.
Soft raiment of his love, as though that she
Had there unclad her, ere she went away.
He stopped and touched the fair things tenderly,
And love swept over him as some grey sea
Sweeps o'er the dry shells of a sandy bank,
And with dry lips his own salt tears he drank.
He rose within a while, and turned about
Unto the door, and said: “Three days it is
Before she comes to take away all doubt
And wrap my soul again in utter bliss;
I will depart, that she may smile at this,
Giving the pity and forgiveness due
Unto a heart whose feebleness she knew.”
Unto the door, and said: “Three days it is
Before she comes to take away all doubt
And wrap my soul again in utter bliss;
I will depart, that she may smile at this,
Giving the pity and forgiveness due
Unto a heart whose feebleness she knew.”
Therewith he turned to go, but even then,
Upon a little table nigh his hand,
Beheld a cup the work of cunning men
For many a long year vanished from the land,
And up against it did a tablet stand,
Whereon were gleaming letters writ in gold;
Then breathlessly these things did he behold;
Upon a little table nigh his hand,
Beheld a cup the work of cunning men
For many a long year vanished from the land,
And up against it did a tablet stand,
Whereon were gleaming letters writ in gold;
Then breathlessly these things did he behold;
For never had his eyes beheld them erst,
And well he deemed the secret lay therein;
Trembling, he said: “This cup may quench my thirst;
Fair rest from this strange tablet may I win,
And if I sin she will forgive my sin;
Nay, rather since her word I disobey
In entering here, no heavier this will weigh.”
And well he deemed the secret lay therein;
Trembling, he said: “This cup may quench my thirst;
Fair rest from this strange tablet may I win,
And if I sin she will forgive my sin;
Nay, rather since her word I disobey
In entering here, no heavier this will weigh.”
200
Withal he took the tablet, and he read:
“O thou who, venturing much, hast gained so much,
Drink of this cup, and be rememberèd
When all are gone whose feet the green earth touch:
Dull is the labouring world, nor holdeth such
As think and yet are happy; then be bold,
And things unthought of shall thine eyes behold!
“O thou who, venturing much, hast gained so much,
Drink of this cup, and be rememberèd
When all are gone whose feet the green earth touch:
Dull is the labouring world, nor holdeth such
As think and yet are happy; then be bold,
And things unthought of shall thine eyes behold!
“Yea, thou must drink, for if thou drinkest not
Nor soundest all the depths of this hid thing,
Think'st thou that these my words can be forgot,
How close soever thou to love mayst cling,
How much soever thou art still a king?
Drink then, and take what thou hast fairly won,
For make no doubt that thine old life is done.”
Nor soundest all the depths of this hid thing,
Think'st thou that these my words can be forgot,
How close soever thou to love mayst cling,
How much soever thou art still a king?
Drink then, and take what thou hast fairly won,
For make no doubt that thine old life is done.”
He took the cup and round about the bowl
Beheld strange figures carved, strange letters writ,
But mid the hurrying tumult of his soul,
He of their meaning then could make no whit,
Though afterwards their smallest lines would flit
Before his eyes, in times that came to him
When many a greater matter had grown dim.
Beheld strange figures carved, strange letters writ,
But mid the hurrying tumult of his soul,
He of their meaning then could make no whit,
Though afterwards their smallest lines would flit
Before his eyes, in times that came to him
When many a greater matter had grown dim.
So with closed eyes he drank, and once again,
While on his quivering lip the sweet draught hung,
Did he think dimly of those mourning men
And saw them winding the dark trees among,
And in his ears their doleful wailing rung;
His love and all the glories of his home
E'en in that minute shadows had become.
While on his quivering lip the sweet draught hung,
Did he think dimly of those mourning men
And saw them winding the dark trees among,
And in his ears their doleful wailing rung;
His love and all the glories of his home
E'en in that minute shadows had become.
E'en in that minute; though at first indeed
In one quick flash of pain unbearable,
His love, his queen, made bare of any weed,
Seemed standing there, as though some tale to tell
From opened lips; and then a dark veil fell
O'er all things there, a chill and restless breeze
Seemed moaning through innumerable trees.
In one quick flash of pain unbearable,
His love, his queen, made bare of any weed,
Seemed standing there, as though some tale to tell
From opened lips; and then a dark veil fell
O'er all things there, a chill and restless breeze
Seemed moaning through innumerable trees.
201
Yet still he staggered onwards to the door
With arms outspread, as one who in dark night
Wanders through places he has known before;
Wide open were his eyes that had no sight,
And with a feverish flush his cheeks were bright,
His lips moved, some unspoken words to say,
As, sinking down, across the door he lay.
With arms outspread, as one who in dark night
Wanders through places he has known before;
Wide open were his eyes that had no sight,
And with a feverish flush his cheeks were bright,
His lips moved, some unspoken words to say,
As, sinking down, across the door he lay.
| The Collected Works of William Morris | |