Complete works of willia.., p.524
Complete Works of William Morris, page 524
Well hast thou done to seek us face to face
And win despite our will a little grace
For the world s weary sorrow: surely thou
Art clean apart from all men born ere now,
And as thou wieldest grief so joy can wield,
And hold thy patience as an untouched shield
Twixt thee and change – all shall be well with thee
If thus thou dost, O forge of melody.”
So died the voice, and nothing might he hear
Save his own heart a-beating: but strange fear
Unreasoning, of some huge mocking ill
Hanging about him, half his soul did fill
And struggled with the other half, wherein
Was fluttering joy of what he looked to win
Mixed with confused longing: and so dealt
These thing together, that at last he felt
Nought round about him; nor know where he was,
But over him a heaviness gan pass
As if of coming happy death, and slow
He sank adown on the halls threshold now,
And in dead sleep lay long in that dull land
With fear and wonder close on either hand.
He woke up with the sound of his own name
Filling the air: a sense of wrong and shame
Wrought in him as his heavy head he raised
And round about him through the half-dusk gazed:
Howeer it was, beat down he felt, brought low
Who had been proud and great a while ago:
He rose at last, and therewithal he heard
His name given forth, and afterward this word:
“O Orpheus, art thou ready for the sake
Of love this burden on thy soul to take;
Unknowing mid unknowing men to dwell
With one who many a secret thing could tell
Yet may not? art thou willing to see eyes
Thou lovest so grow cold amid surprise
Of thee and thy desires, and all the ways
Of mortal men who wear away blind days,
They know not why? Wilt thou be satisfied
To have a living body that shall hide
A shuddering soul, restless gazing across
The world s shows and its idel gain and loss
Unto the things that shall at least endure –
A soul to whom nought earthly shall be pure
Or strange or great – nay nay not e’en thy love,
Thou deemest greater than the Gods above?
Is it enough, the gain we offer thee?
Bethink thee; get thee back, and thou shalt see
Thy world again, and nurse thy grief therein,
Thy grief and love, then a short space win
The rest of death, and gifts thou dream’st not of.
Or else bear all, and thou shalt see thy love
Ere this world’s-day is ended – speak and pray,
And take the gift the Gods will give today!”
Then Orpheus cried; “O whose’er thou art
That speaketh: surely I can hear a part
Of what thou sayest; telling me that I
Shall surely see mine own love presently,
She and I face to face – e’en she whom men
Once called Eurydice, in old days, when
We found each other – for the rest it seems
The air holds soundless thoughts, that as in dreams
Flicker about my heart, but show nought clear –
– The babble of the mind – If thou can’st hear,
And understand, hear this: Give thou me back
The only thing my heart shall ever lack,
Or let me be – and let the world grow worse
And men and Gods, that heed me nothing, curse
Each other, and the endless wrack begin,
The endless strife where nought there is to win
But worser swifter ruin – O let me be,
A helpless hapless mass of misery,
But lonely at the least, with no pretence
To bless or curse your vain omnipotence,
To be a part of what your hands have wrought,
Who knoweth how, for nought, for nought for nought.”
There stood he panting: but these words being said,
Long silence was there, till there grew sick dread
Within him, that but mocks the promise was,
And nothing from henceforth would corne to pass
Except that lonely death for which he cried.
But midst his fears a light gan glimmer wide
Betwixt the trees, and grew, until he saw
A strange and lustrous shape anigh him draw;
Man-like it was, not over great to see
More than a man, but wings sprang wondrously
From his two shoulders, bright of changing hue;
Moreover when still nigher him he drew,
And seemed about himself strange light to bear,
In nought might Orpheus see his visage clear;
Now burned his eyes with wild and dreadful light,
Now soft they grew, as though his soul had sight
Of something good past words, an odorous air
Stirred in his long locks, from his pinions fair,
Till his bright cheeks were half veiled; then all stern
His mouth grew as of one who needs must learn
Dread things not dreading them himself, & then
In even speech unlike to speech of men
He spake and said:
“Since thou hast made thy choice,
Here am I sent to bid thee to rejoice
Yet amid trembling, for e’en so it is
That e’en this little shred of earthly bliss
Thou hast so wailed for, O thou lonely one,
Is not yet gained, or the deed fully done
The Gods have mind to do – nay what strange pain
Of hope deferred sickens thine heart again?
Be strong, for thou art not amidst a dream,
And I am he for whom on earth ye deem
The name of Hermes meet. And now behold,
Thou sayest that thy love would wax not cold
How many years soever thou mightst live
Thou deemst thyself full strong enow to strive
With all the Gods, to live and long alone
And it may be that thou art such an one
E en as thou deemest – then in very deed
Well shall thy strength now help thee at thy need,
Behold somewhat the glimmering light doth grow,
A sign of help to thee, of help enow
If thou fail’st not. Toward the world set thy face
Nought doubting of the way, and when the place
Thou gainest, whence thou enteredst first this wood,
Then look beside thee – and how fair and good
The snow-drift and the winter then shall seem
Unto thine eye! how like a wretched dream
The overburdened summer of they woe!
For she thine outstretched hand shall surely know,
But yet forgetting all the hollow past
Shall wonder at thine eyes so over cast
With wonder, and the pinning of thy cheek.
Thy trembling lips, and why thou dost not speak,
And why thou shudderest there upon the brink
Of the dark stream and e en somewhat must shrink
Away from her – yea and belike the tears
Shall dim her eyes, drawn forth by tender fears
Of anger risen within thee, or some change
To make the dead forgotten days all strange
But then withal the pain of her and thee,
The pity for each other’s agony
Shall make love greater – deem’st thou not that earth
Shall tremble somewhat through its changing girth
When round about her heart thine arms are cast
And lips to lips your bodies meet at last –
O happy, happy shall ye be that tide!”
Panting stood Orpheus, with eyes staring wide
As from the Gods lips forth the fair speech flowed,
Gentle, heart-piercing; and his whole soul glowed
With warmth of happy love: yea was it not
That all that sweetness from his own heart, hot
With hope returning, meeting love had come:
Yet when he strove to speak his lips were dumb.
Nay scarce he knew if yet his aching eyes
Beheld the God or in what wondrous wise
Things were changed round him: then the voice again
And oer his heart there swept a wave of pain,
Bitter and clod, as, smooth word knit to word
Rose up threat, an overhanging sword:
He saw himself entangled in time’s net,
Of love forgotten, helpless to forget,
Yet longing and its sweetness all gone by,
And no one left to note his misery –
Ah me, a space of time ere he should touch
The lips that once with longing overmuch
Had changed his life! before the words were said
Face to face stood he with this newborn dread,
And moaned for pity, as confused and dim
Slowly their import floated on to him
As from a waste land:
Happy shalt thou be,
O Orpheus, if the love that is in thee
Deal not with time or change or doubt, but still
Thou lookest onward through all pain and ill
Unto the goal believing that thy love
Can never die howso the world may move:
But ah, how hapless, if thou shouldst forget
That thou upon the steps of death art set,
If thou shouldst deem this minute all in all
And let such dreadful longing on thee fall
That thou must needs turn around about to gaze
On the changed body and the sightless face
That ne’er can mate thee, living as thou art;
Then certainly a fearful wall shall part
Thy soul and her soul; then they love is weighed
And found a light thing.”
Slowly Orpheus said;
“O hollow sound of empty words again!
What thing of earth and heaven can know my pain,
If ye, O Gods, shall doubt my love? – nay this
Rather I say; ye grudge to see love’s bliss
Here, where things die not: only on the earth
Beset by cold death’s ever narrowing girth
Ye let us love – Come love, I know no more
How much of that sweet space is now passed o’er
Wherein we have to love – come, unseen sweet.
Be not too far behind my hurrying feet!
Come the Gods slew thee I redeemed thee dear!
Come from the dreadful silence hard to bear
Unto the place where each to each we twain
May weep the loss of all we hoped to gain!”
And therewithal he hastened to be gone
And saw no more by him the Shining One,
Nay methinks scarce now had a thought of him,
As oer the open space into the dim
Close wood he hurried: on he went until
The sweetness of this love his heart gan fill
With many a thought, until his harp, his friend
He ‘gan to handle, and therefrom did send
A low sweet sound, and his soul’s longing fell
Into sweet words whereof e’en these may tell.
Winter in the world it is
Round about the unhoped kiss
Whose shadow I have long moaned o’er;
Round about the longing sore
That the touch of thee shall turn
Into joy too deep to burn.
Round thine eyes and round thy mouth
Passeth no murmur of the south,
When my lips a little while
Leave thy quivering tender smile,
As we twain hand touching hand
Once again together stand:
Sweet is that as all is sweet,
For the cold drift shalt thou meet,
Kind and cold-cheeked and mine own,
Wrapped-about with deep-furred gown
In the wide-wheeled chariot:
Then the north shall spare us not;
The wide-reaching waste of snow
Wilder, lonelier shall grow,
As the short-lived sun falls down.
But the warders of the town,
When they flash the torches out
O’er the snow amid their doubt,
And their eyes at last behold
Thy red litten hair of gold,
Shall they open, or in fear
Cry ‘alas what cometh here,
Whence hath come this heavenly one?
To tell of all the world undone?
They shall open, and we shall see
The long street litten scantily
With the stream of light before
The guest-hall’s just opened door,
And our horses’ bells shall cease
As we gain the place of peace:
Thou shalt tremble, as at last
The worn threshold is oerpast
And the firelight blindeth thee:
Trembling shalt thou cling to me
As the sleepy merchants stare
At thy cold hands slim and fair
Thy soft eyes and happy lips
Worth ten times their richest ships.
O my love, how over-sweet,
That first kissing of thy feet,
When the fire is sunk alow,
And the hall made empty now
Groweth solemn dim and vast!
O my love the night shall last
Longer than men tell thereof
Laden with our lonely love!
Somewhat he lingered now, his hand he laid
Upon his forehead even as if he weighted
Strange thoughts within him; then he hurried on
Once more, as eager all should be well won,
Nor spake aught a long while; and then once more
A wave of sweet fresh longing swept all o’er
His troubled heart: slower a while he went
And from his parched mouth song again he sent.
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,
And go walk about the meads
Till our very joyance needs
Rest at last; and we shall come
To that Sun-god’s lonely home,
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 porch
By that image with the torch:
Thy one white hand laid upon
The black pillar that was won
From the far-off Indian mine;
And my face nigh toucheth thine,
But not touching; and thy gown
Fair with spring-flowers cast adown
From thy bosom and thy brow.
There the south-west wind shall blow
Through thine hair to reach my cheek,
As thou sittest, nor mayst speak,
Nor mayst move the hand I kiss
For the very depth of bliss;
Nay, nor turn thine eyes to me.
Then desire of the great sea
Nigh 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 gone
From the lonely Sun-Crowned one.
Then the meads fade at our back,
And the spring day ‘gins to lack
That fresh hope that once it had;
But we twain grow yet more glad.
And apart no more may go
When the grassy slope and low
Dieth in the shingly sand:
Then we wander hand in hand
By the edges of the sea,
And I weary more for thee
Than if far apart we were,
With a space of desert drear
‘Twixt thy lips and mine, O love!
– Ah, my joy, my joy thereof!
Now as he sang he ‘gan to wend more slow
Yea well nigh stopped, and seemed to hearken now
For footsteps following – no sound might he hear
But his own heart a-beating, and great fear
Stung sudden to the quick, and forth he sprang
And from his random-smitten harp there rang
A loud discordant noise: swift he passed on
A long while silent, till upon him won
A dreadful helpless sinese of loneliness
That with all fear his spirit did oppress;
And at the last he cried: “Eurydice
O hearken if thou art anigh to me!
Hearken lest I faint and fear thou too
Shoulds faint and fear, and all be left to do
Once more – O hearken sweet – this is a dream
And all our sorrow now doth only seem
And thou art mine and I am thine: we lie,
We twain, at home so soft and quietly
In the moon-litten bed amid the sound
Of leaves light rustling, and my arms are wound
About thy body, but thy hands fall down
Away from me, O sweet, mine own, mine own!
Doubtful e’en now with thy last waking shame.”
Therewith from lips and harp the sweet song came.
O my love how could it be
But summer must be brought to me
Brought to the world by thy full love?
Long within thee did it move,
Move and bud and change and grow,
Till it wraps me wholly now,
And I turn from thee a while
Its o’er sweetness to beguile
With a little thought of rest.
Ah me have I gained the best,
Have I no more to desire
No more hope to vex and tire
No more fear to sicken me.
Nought but the full gift of thee,
All my soul to satisfy.
Ah sweet, lest my longing die
Een a moment, rise and corne,
For the roses of our horne,
For the rose and lily here,
Are too sweet for us to bear
Let us wander through the wood
Till a little rest seem good
To our weary limbs, till we
As the eve dies silently
Neath the chestnut boughs are laid,
Faint with love but not downweighted
