Excerpt
HERE BEGIN POEMS BY THE WAY.WRITTEN BY WILLIAM MORRIS.AND FIRST IS THE POEM CALLEDFROM THE UPLAND TO THE SEA.
Shall we wake one morn of spring,Glad at heart of everything,Yet pensive with the thought of eve?Then the white house shall we leave,Pass the wind-flowers and the bays,Through the garth, and go our ways,Wandering down among the meadsTill our very joyance needsRest at last; till we shall comeTo that Sun-god’s lonely home,Lonely on the hill-side grey,Whence the sheep have gone away;Lonely till the feast-time is,When with prayer and praise of bliss,Thither comes the country side.There awhile shall we abide,Sitting low down in the porchBy that image with the torch:Thy one white hand laid uponThe black pillar that was wonFrom the far-off Indian mine;And my hand nigh touching thine,But not touching; and thy gownFair with spring-flowers cast adownFrom thy bosom and thy brow.There the south-west wind shall blowThrough thine hair to reach my cheek,As thou sittest, nor mayst speak,Nor mayst move the hand I kissFor the very depth of bliss;Nay, nor turn thine eyes to me.Then desire of the great seaNigh enow, but all unheard,In the hearts of us is stirred,And we rise, we twain at last,And the daffodils downcast,Feel thy feet and we are goneFrom the lonely Sun-Crowned one.Then the meads fade at our back,And the spring day ’gins to lackThat fresh hope that once it had;But we twain grow yet more glad,And apart no more may goWhen the grassy slope and lowDieth in the shingly sand:Then we wander hand in handBy the edges of the sea,And I weary more for theeThan if far apart we were,With a space of desert drear’Twixt thy lips and mine, O love!Ah, my joy, my joy thereof!
OF THE WOOING OF HALLBIORN THESTRONG. A STORY FROM THE LAND-SETTLING BOOK OF ICELAND, CHAPTER XXX.At Deildar-Tongue in the autumn-tide,So many times over comes summer again,Stood Odd of Tongue his door beside.What healing in summer if winter be vain?Dim and dusk the day was grown,As he heard his folded wethers moan.Then through the garth a man drew near,With painted shield and gold-wrought spear.Good was his horse and grand his gear,And his girths were wet with Whitewater.“Hail, Master Odd, live blithe and long!How fare the folk at Deildar-Tongue?”“All hail, thou Hallbiorn the Strong!How fare the folk by the Brothers’-Tongue?”“Meat have we there, and drink and fire,Nor lack all things that we desire.But by the other WhitewaterOf Hallgerd many a tale we hear.”“Tales enow may my daughter makeIf too many words be said for her sake.”“What saith thine heart to a word of mine,That I deem thy daughter fair and fine?Fair and fine for a bride is she,And I fain would have her home with me.”“Full many a word that at noon goes forthComes home at even little worth.Now winter treadeth on autumn-tide,So here till the spring shalt thou abide.Then if thy mind be changed no whit,And ye still will wed, see ye to it!And on the first of summer days,A wedded man, ye may go your ways.Yet look, howso the thing will fall,My hand shall meddle nought at all....