Complete works of willia.., p.551
Complete Works of William Morris, page 551
Then dropped my head and wept because the wind,
As I knew all too well, was making clear that space.
That was at sunset time: all the night long
Thereafter very sullen would I lie
Till the next noon unless the wind was strong —
The wind was ever a kind friend to me.
But the next day at noon I used to lean
Against an aspen, get a sense of green
To my heart through my eyes and soon I ween
Came forth my dream of dreams each hand laid on a tree.
I used to think it was a sort of right
That I should get each day some happiness . . .
O God it was not fair, no part at all
Was left of any day, and day by day
The hours lengthen and it doth befall
xxviiiI sleep not, half forgetful in a way —
I sleep one hour only of the night.
At dawn the moon fades and my strained sight
Drops from the empty helm so strange in the grey light
I try to shout, Lord help! but nought at all can say.
Ah, while I stood in that pavilion
And saw the pale vexed maidens arm in arm,
And saw the roof above with starts thereon,
I reeled and fell down straight from memory and strange calm —
Because I saw myself as I did say
Sitting upon my bed waiting for day
My blue enameled helm touched by the grey
Not showing that blue now, while from the neighboring elm
The cocks send out that strange unearthly sound
Cock crow at dawn, dawn slow in coming round,
So slow and very cold in coming round —
Perhaps Doomsday is past and it will not come now —
In those cold dawns I pray thee, Eleanore,
Between the roses drained of colour, come no more
With fall of moist white feet upon the marble floor-
Eleanore I pray thee sit not there so calm . . . .
Likewise I saw myself in the hot noon
Sitting along upon a bank of sand,
A few men come there now, yet in the moon
The witches gather there from many a land,
Yet I sat there alone and let the sun
Beat on my helmed head feeling the great drops run
Over my cheeks like tears and dropping one by one
On the steel plates of my knees or else upon my hand.
And this I did because I feared the shade,
I feared to see a ghost clad in deep green
In the likeness of a very beauteous maid
xxix But yet so pale, so pale, with no joy to be seen,
I fear to see her cover her thin face
With her thin hands, then weeping in that place
To kneel in last year’s leaves to hide her face.
For if I were to see only her stately mien
There would no longer be a chance to me
Of dying but for ever I should live
Walk slowly in the sun . . .
O Eleanore who liest there alone,
Ah so alone, the blue blue roof above,
I pray thee let me be, and make low moan
My lips on your lips, for I am in love —
For what thing love I better than thine eyes?
What thing, O Love, except perhaps those wise
Kind lips, the little hand that tries
By witching trembling grip to say it is in love.
Dead is she then — behold I pass my lips
Over her cold face moaning, like a bee
Who when the choristers are chaunting, slips
Along the stained glass in the clerestory
Brushing the face of Christ at Bethlehem;
I kissed her o’er and o’er right from the bodice hem
Up to the golden locks yea sunk my lips in them —
I never knew till now how weet a kiss could be.
Alas God would not let me stay there long:
One of those maidens rising from her place
Came to me and on my shoulder laid a strong
Indignant grasp, and when I saw her face
I knew that I must go, so piteously
I moved to the bier-foot: she to me
Turned full her face like a fierce dog, then she
Passed by the feet in going to her place —
Her long red raiment brushed, as she went past,
The silk from off the feet of Eleanore,
I doubted, shivered much, but then at last
Turned weeping back to my own love once more,
I bent down till my wet cheek touched her foot,
Took off the gold shoe. I felt a sharp pain shoot
Through all my frame, go down to the heart’s root.
I WHO AM CURIOUS…
I who am curious about many things
Considering how that Rumour, though with wings
She flyeth fast, yet halteth in her speech
And wishing well that true record should reach
Those that come after: have with care & pain
And diligent sifting oer & oer again
Written this book wherein is nothing set
I do not hold for pure truth, though I let
Some words stay as I heard them; telling men
Myself who said them how and where & when.
And for that Lords and Knights should have no lack
Of this my book in good fair red & black.
Full many clerks have written it & chief
This mighty volume whereof leaf by leaf
I turn just now by Alexandre le blau
Clerk of S. Omers that my lord might know
The wonderful deeds of arms done in these lands
Was well-illuminate for my Lords hands.
I say I turn it over leaf by leaf:
I am grown old, shall die soon little grief
Or fear this gives me, I could die just now
Most peacefully the wrinkles on my brow
Seem all unfolding and all deeds of mine
Both good and bad grow faint to me or shine
As deeds of other men; and this book here
Which line by line was poured into mine ear
And moulded in my brain and heart is grown
Strange stories of an unknown land as shewn
By some old man long dead. ah leaf by leaf
Hold these; three crowns upon a scarlet chief
…
Sir Jaques prayed, then rose with a pale face,
And we went on quite silent till at last
I said, fair knight, that cross that we have past
What happed thereby: he said it grieveth me
Each time I tell this tale so piteously
They ended. He stopped there for courtesy’s sake.
I said no word until he pleased to break
The silence and begin, ah trust me though,
But I was eager as we rode on so.
Sir Peter, said he, pray you did you note
Hard by the Cross, that Castle God has smote
With utter ruin? Yea, I said: well Sir,
I who am old now was a squire there
When I was young. Sir Miles du grand Martel
Was Lord of it and me, he held it well
Through many troubles, but a certain Lord
That hight Sir John Bourdville he having scored
High vengeance gainst him took it suddenly.
Bur pray, Sir Peter, now and answer me,
What think you, Sir, has man or woman yet
Died of pure love, or do all men forget,
Live and be happy afterwards: nay nay,
Sir Jaques answered, I what shall I say
But that I never knew it so perdie,
It seemeth not a little thing to die.
Look you Sir Knight your sword has gone right through
Full many a man who has died by you
In spite of all the blood, and if the Lord
Has made it hard with a bright heavy sword . . .
…
She slipped from out the castle and the sight
Of Lord John Bourdville: therefore I praise God
For I went with her, down upon the sod.
He bent his old eyes saying this - Miles came
And met her amid the trumpets and the flames
Of the great torches. Welcome Lady fair
He said, and stood bareheaded bowed to her,
And would have kissed her cheek but suddenly
Meeting her eyes, their lips met, yea and she
With a long wild sigh threw her arms a round him
But never moved her lips. All these things swim
Like pictures through my brain I mind too how
He led her off, his face flushed to the brow
Red in the torchlight, and he held her arm
Below the shoulder as he feared some harm
Might take her from him; the days went by,
I was made Miles’s Squire, often I
Have seen him wander for mere happiness
Restless and ill at ease, less and less.
He counted Bourdville’s threats, his jewel fair
Shut so safe up in his strong castle there
Alas, though on a day she rode alone
A little way, and he not with her gone,
A three days journey off perforce, night came . . . .
SIR GILES WAR SONG
Ho! is there any will ride with me,
Sir Giles, le bon des barrières.
The clink of arms is good to hear,
The flap of pennons fair to see;
Ho! is there any will ride with me,
Sir Giles, le bon des barrières.
The leopards and lilies are fair to see,
“St. George Guienne” right good to hear;
Ho! is there any will ride with me,
Sir Giles, le bon des barrières.
I stood by the barrier,
My coat being blazon’d fair to see;
Ho! is there any will ride with me,
Sir Giles, le bon des barrières.
Clisson put out his head to see,
And lifted his basnet up to hear;
I pull’d him through the bars to ME,
Sir Giles, le bon des barrières.
SONG FROM “FRANK’S SEALED LETTER”
Wearily, drearily,
Half the day long,
Flap the great banners
High over the stone;
Strangely and eerily
Sounds the wind’s song,
Bending the banner-poles.
“While, all alone,
Watching the loophole’s spark,
Lie I, with life all dark,
Feet tether’d, hands fetter’d
Fast to the stone,
The grim walls, square letter’d,
With prison’d men’s groan.
“Still strain the banner-poles
Through the wind’s song,
Westward the banner rolls
Over my wrong.
IN PRISON.
Wearily, dreaily,
Half the day long,
Flap the great banners
High over the stone;
Strangely and eerily
Sounds the wind’s song,
Bending the banner-poles.
While, all alone,
Watching the loophole’s spark,
Lie I, with life all dark,
Feet tether’d, hands fetter’d
Fast to the stone,
The grim walls, square letter’d
With prison’d men’s groan.
Still strain the banner-poles
Through the wind’s song,
Westward the banner rolls
Over my wrong.
HANDS
Twixt the sunlight and the shade
Float up memories of my maid.
God, remember Guendolen!
Gold or gems she did not wear,
But her rippled yellow hair,
Like a veil, hid Guendolen.
My rough hands so strangely made
‘Twixt the sunlight and the shade,
Folded Golden Guendolen.
Hands used to grip the sword-hilt hard,
Framed her face, while on the sward
Tears fell down from Guendolen.
Guendolen now speaks no word,
Hands fold round about the sword,
Now no more of Guendolen.
Only `twixt the light and shade,
Floating memories of my maid
Make me pray for Guendolen.
THE CAPTIVE
For many, many days together
The wind blew steady from the East,
For many days in the calm clear weather
The clouds went westward from the East.
For many days we rode together,
Yet met we neither friend, nor foe,
For many days in the dry clear weather
And still the eastern wind did blow.
We saw the trees in the hot bright weather
Stand clear, with shadows very black,
As freely we rode on together
With helms unlaced, and bridles slack.
And often as we rode together,
We, looking down the green-banked stream,
Saw flowers in the sunny weather
And saw the bubble-making bream.
And in the night lay down together,
Above our heads we hung the rood,
Or watched all-armed in the dewy weather
The while the moon did watch the wood.
Our spears stood bright and thick together,
Straight out the banners streamed behind,
As we galloped on in the summer weather
With faces turned toward the wind.
Our spears sank down in rest together —
For thick we saw the Pagans ride,
I saw his face in the clear, clear weather,
He rode that last time by my side.
The foe stood still on the bridge together.
Hurrah! our trumpets sang out loud,
Their cymbals clashed in sunny weather
O! the light blue sky with never a cloud.
Shout, for the crash as we met together!
Shout, for the splintering of the spears!
For the swords leaping up in the bright, bright weather!
For the turban that the straight-sword tears.
There, as we rolled and writhed together,
I threw my arms above my head,
For close by my side, in the clear, bright weather
I saw him reel and fall back dead
Possibly crossed out Madly I fought, as we fought together
I and the slayer met together,
O! vainly, vainly he reined back,
As he caught my eye in the clear, bring weather,
Shout, for his fixed eyes, and hold so slack!
They bound my blood stained hands together
They bound the dead one by my side,
Then on we rode in the summer weather,
With clash of cymbals did we ride.
We ride no more, no more together,
My dungeon bars are thick and strong,
I take no heed of any weather,
The sweet saints grant I live not long.
FROM THE OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE MAGAZINE, MAY 1856
For many, many days together
The wind blew steady from the East;
For many days hot grew the weather,
About the time of our Lady’s Feast.
For many days we rode together,
Yet met we neither friend nor foe;
Hotter and clearer grew the weather,
Steadily did the East wind blow.
We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather,
Clear-cut, with shadows very black,
As freely we rode on together
With helms unlaced and bridles slack.
And often as we rode together,
We, looking down the green-bank’d stream,
Saw flowers in the sunny weather,
And saw the bubble-making bream.
And in the night lay down together,
And hung above our heads the rood,
Or watch’d night-long in the dewy weather,
The while the moon did watch the wood.
Our spears stood bright and thick together,
Straight out the banners stream’d behind,
As we gallop’d on in the sunny weather,
With faces turn’d towards the wind.
Down sank our three-score spears together,
As thick we saw the pagans ride;
His eager face in the clear fresh weather,
Shone out that last time by my side.
Up the sweep of the bridge we dash’d together,
It rock’d to the crash of the meeting spears,
Down rain’d the buds of the dear spring weather,
The elm-tree flowers fell like tears.
There, as we roll’d and writhed together,
I threw my arms above my head,
For close by my side, in the lovely weather,
I saw him reel and fall back dead.
I and the slayer met together,
He waited the death-stroke there in his place,
With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather,
Gapingly mazed at my madden’d face.
Madly I fought as we fought together,
In vain: the little Christian band
The Pagans drown’d, as in stormy weather,
The wild waves drown low-lying land.
They bound my blood-stain’d hands together,
