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The Collected Works of William Morris

With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris

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Then Bodli said: “Nay, I have done my part,
Let others tell the rest”—and turned to go,
Yet lingered, and she cried aloud:
“No, no,
Friend of my lover! if ill words I spake

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Yet pardon me! for sore my heart doth ache
With pent-up love.”
She reached her hand to him,
He turned and took it, and his eyes did swim
With tears for him and her; a while it seemed,
As though the dream so many a sweet night dreamed
Waked from with anguish on so many a morn,
Were come to pass, that he afresh was born
To happy life, with heavens and earth made new;
But slowly from his grasp her hand she drew,
And stepped aback, and said:
“Speak, I fear not,
Because so true a heart my love hath got
That nought can change it; speak, when cometh he?
Tell me the sweet words that he spake of me.
Did he not tell me in the days agone,
That oft he spake of me to thee alone?
Nay, tell me of his doings, for indeed
Of words 'twixt him and me is little need.”