Poems by William Morris

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What cometh here from west to east awending?
What cometh here from west to east awending?
I know a little garden-close,
SIR GUY, being in the court of a Pagan castle.
Agnes went through the meadows a-weeping,
Hear a word, a word in season, for the day is drawing nigh,
Hear a word, a word in season,
O treacherous scent, O thorny sight,
And if you meet the Canon of Chimay,
Come, comrades, come, your glasses clink;
Lo, when we wade the tangled wood,
So swift the hours are moving
Love gives every gift whereby we long to live
Upon an eve I sat me down and wept,
THE REAPERS.
I am the handmaid of the earth,
The Briarwood.
Shall we wake one morn of spring,
Midways of a wall├Ęd garden,
It was Goldilocks woke up in the morn
Ye who have come o'er the sea
King Hafbur & King Siward
Hellelil sitteth in bower there,
Strong are thine arms, O love, & strong
Lo from our loitering ship
Wearily, drearily,
Hot August noon: already on that day
It was the fair knight Aagen
Hast thou longed through weary days
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Draw not away thy hands, my love,
It was a knight of the southern land
THE WORKERS.
Clad is the year in all her best,
Winter in the world it is,
Two words about the world we see,
Now sleeps the land of houses,
A ship with shields before the sun,
Saith man to man, We've heard and known
There met three knights on the woodland way,
At Deildar-Tongue in the autumn-tide,
You must be very old, Sir Giles,
Puellae.
What part of the dread eternity
I am the ancient Apple-Queen,
My lady seems of ivory
THE PRINCE, being in the wood near the tower, in the evening.
For many, many days together
There were four of us about that bed;
It is the longest night in all the year,
Ho! is there any will ride with me,
In an English Castle in Poictou.
How weary is it none can tell,
Spring went about the woods to-day,
Pray but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips;
Oak.
THE DAMOZELS.
Thick rise the spear-shafts o'er the land
SIR OZANA LE CURE HARDY. SIR GALAHAD. SIR BORS DE GANYS.
Come hither, lads, and hearken, for a tale there is to tell,
Come hither lads and hearken,
Each eve earth falleth down the dark,
But, knowing now that they would have her speak,
How the wind howls this morn
Gold on her head, and gold on her feet,
Silk Embroidery.
It was up in the morn we rose betimes
Pear-tree.
A golden gilliflower to-day
There was a lord that hight Maltete,
The days have slain the days,
'Twas in the water-dwindling tide
Had she come all the way for this,
Swerve to the left, son Roger, he said,
In Denmark gone is many a year,
Of silk my gear was shapen,
The Beasts that be
Up and away through the drifting rain!
What is this, the sound and rumour? What is this that all men hear,
Fair now is the springtide, now earth lies beholding
Fair now is the springtide, now earth lies beholding
Midst bitten mead and acre shorn,
King's daughter sitting in tower so high,
Across the empty garden-beds,
The King has asked of his son so good,
No one goes there now:
The Youths.
I heard men saying, Leave hope and praying,
I heard men saying, Leave hope and praying,
Ah! no, no, it is nothing, surely nothing at all,
I once a King and chief
When the boughs of the garden hang heavy with rain
O muse that swayest the sad Northern Song,
There was a lady lived in a hall,
Day.
Fair Ellayne she walk'd by Welland river,

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