William Morris
¶[1834-1896]
The Defence of Guenevere
¶BUT, knowing now that they would have her speak,She threw her wet hair backward from her brow,Her hand close to her mouth touching her cheek,
¶As though she had had there a shameful blow,And feeling it shameful to feel aught but shameAll through her heart, yet felt her cheek burned so,[1184]She must a little touch it; like one lameShe walked away from Gauwaine, with her headStill lifted up; and on her cheek of flame
¶The tears dried quick; she stopped at last and said:"O knights and lords, it seems but little skillTo talk of well-known things past now and dead.
¶"God wot I ought to say, I have done ill,And pray you all forgiveness heartily!Because you must be right, such great lords; still
¶"Listen, suppose your time were come to die,And you were quite alone and very weak;Yea, laid a dying while very mightily
¶"The wind was ruffling up the narrow streakOf river through your broad lands running well:Suppose a hush should come, then some one speak:
¶" 'One of these cloths is heaven, and one is hell,Now choose one cloth for ever; which they be,I will not tell you, you must somehow tell
¶" 'Of your own strength and mightiness; here, see!'Yea, yea, my lord, and you to ope your eyes,At foot of your familiar bed to see
¶"A great God's angel standing, with such dyes,Not known on earth, on his great wings, and hands,Held out two ways, light from the inner skies
¶"Showing him well, and making his commandsSeem to be God's commands, moreover, too,Holding within his hands the cloths on wands;
¶"And one of these strange choosing cloths was blue,Wavy and long, and one cut short and red;No man could tell the better of the two.[1185]"After a shivering half-hour you said:'God help! heaven's color, the blue;' and he said, 'hell.'Perhaps you would then roll upon your bed,
¶"And cry to all good men that loved you well,'Ah Christ! if only I had known, known, known;'Launcelot went away, then I could tell,
¶"Like wisest man how all things would be, moan,And roll and hurt myself, and long to die,And yet fear much to die for what was sown.
¶"Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie,Whatever may have happened through these years,God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie."
¶Her voice was low at first, being full of tears,But as it cleared, it grew full loud and shrill,Growing a windy shriek in all men's ears,
¶A ringing in their startled brains, untilShe said that Gauwaine lied, then her voice sunk,And her great eyes began again to fill,
¶Though still she stood right up, and never shrunk,But spoke on bravely, glorious lady fair!Whatever tears her full lips may have drunk,
¶She stood, and seemed to think, and wrung her hair,Spoke out at last with no more trace of shame,With passionate twisting of her body there:
¶"It chanced upon a day that Launcelot cameTo dwell at Arthur's court: at ChristmastimeThis happened; when the heralds sung his name,
¶"Son of King Ban of Benwick, seemed to chimeAlong with all the bells that rang that day,O'er the white roofs, with little change of rhyme.[1186]"Christmas and whitened winter passed away,And over me the April sunshine came,Made very awful with black hail-clouds, yea
¶"And in the Summer I grew white with flame,And bowed my head down: Autumn, and the sickSure knowledge things would never be the same,
¶"However often Spring might be most thickOf blossoms and buds, smote on me, and I grewCareless of most things, let the clock tick, tick,
¶"To my unhappy pulse, that beat right throughMy eager body; while I laughed out loud,And let my lips curl up at false or true,
¶"Seemed cold and shallow without any cloud.Behold, my judges, then the cloths were brought;While I was dizzied thus, old thoughts would crowd
¶"Belonging to the time ere I was boughtBy Arthur's great name and his little love;Must I give up for ever then, I thought,
¶"That which I deemed would ever round me move,Glorifying all things; for a little word,Scarce ever meant at all, must I now prove
¶"Stone-cold for ever? Pray you, does the LordWill that all folks should be quite happy and good ?I love God now a little, if this cord
¶"Were broken, once for all what striving couldMake me love anything in earth or heaven?So day by day it grew, as if one should
¶"Slip slowly down some path worn smooth and even,Down to a cool sea on a summer day;Yet still in slipping there was some small leaven[1187]"Of stretched hands catching small stones by the way,Until one surely reached the sea at last,And felt strange new joy as the worn head lay
¶"Back, with the hair like sea-weed; yea all pastSweat of the forehead, dryness of the lips,Washed utterly out by the dear waves o'ercast,
¶"In the lone sea, far off from any ships!Do I not know now of a day in Spring?No minute of that wild day ever slips
¶"From out my memory; I hear thrushes sing,And wheresoever I may be, straightwayThoughts of it all come up with most fresh sting:
¶"I was half mad with beauty on that day,And went without my ladies all alone,In a quiet garden walled round every way;
¶"I was right joyful of that wall of stone,That shut the flowers and trees up with the sky,And trebled all the beauty: to the bone,
¶"Yea right through to my heart, grown very shyWith wary thoughts, it pierced, and made me glad;Exceedingly glad, and I knew verily,
¶"A little thing just then had made me mad;I dared not think, as I was wont to do,Sometimes, upon my beauty; If I had
¶"Held out my long hand up against the blue,And, looking on the tenderly darken'd fingers,Thought that by rights one ought to see quite through,
¶"There, see you, where the soft still light yet lingersRound by the edges; what should I have done,If this had joined with yellow spotted singers,[1188]"And startling green drawn upward by the sun?But shouting, loosed out, see now! all my hair,And trancedly stood watching the west wind run
¶"With faintest half-heard breathing sound: why thereI lose my head e'en now in doing this;But shortly listen: In that garden fair
¶"Came Launcelot walking; this is true, the kissWherewith we kissed in meeting that spring day,I scarce dare talk of the remember'd bliss,
¶"When both our mouths went wandering in one way,And aching sorely, met among the leaves;Our hands being left behind strained far away.
¶"Never within a yard of my bright sleevesHad Launcelot come before: and now so nigh!After that day why is it Guenevere grieves?
¶"Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie,Whatever happened on through all those years,God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie.
¶"Being such a lady could I weep these tearsIf this were true ? A great queen such as IHaving sinn'd this way, straight her conscience sears;
¶"And afterwards she liveth hatefully,Slaying and poisoning, certes never weeps:Gauwaine be friends now, speak me lovingly,
¶"Do I not see how God's dear pity creepsAll through your frame, and trembles in your mouth?Remember in what grave your mother sleeps,
¶"Buried in some place far down in the southMen are forgetting as I speak to you;By her head sever'd in that awful drouth[1189]"Of pity that drew Agravaine's fell blow,I pray your pity! let me not scream outFor ever after, when the shrill winds blow
¶"Through half your castle-locks! let me not shoutFor ever after in the winter nightWhen you ride out alone! in battle-rout
¶"Let not my rusting tears make your sword light!Ah! God of mercy, how he turns away!So, ever must I dress me to the fight,
¶"So: let God's justice work! Gauwaine, I say,See me hew down your proofs: yea all men knowEven as you said how Mellyagraunce one day,
¶"One bitter day in la Fausse Garde, for soAll good knights held it after, saw:Yea, sirs, by cursed unknightly outrage; though
¶"You, Gauwaine, held his word without a flaw.
¶Not so, fair lords, even if the world should end
¶"This very day, and you were judges hereInstead of God. Did you see MellyagraunceWhen Launcelot stood by him? what white fear
¶"Curdled his blood, and how his teeth did dance,His side sink in? as my knight cried and said:'Slayer of unarm'd men, here is a chance!
¶" 'Setter of traps, I pray you guard your head,By God I am so glad to fight with you,Stripper of ladies, that my hand feels lead
¶" 'For driving weight; hurrah now! draw and do,For all my wounds are moving in my breast,And I am getting mad with waiting so.'[1190]"He struck his hands together o'er the beast,Who fell down flat, and grovell'd at his feet,And groan'd at being slain so young: 'At least,'
¶"My knight said, 'Rise you, sir, who are so fleetAt catching ladies, half-arm'd will I fight,My left side all uncovered!' then I weet,
¶"Up sprang Sir Mellyagraunce with great delightUpon his knave's face; not until just thenDid I quite hate him, as I saw my knight
¶"Along the lists look to my stake and penWith such a joyous smile, it made me sighFrom agony beneath my waist-chain, when
¶"The fight began, and to me they drew nigh;Ever Sir Launcelot kept him on the right,And traversed warily, and ever high
¶"And fast leapt caitiff's sword, until my knightSudden threw up his sword to his left hand,Caught it and swung it; that was all the fight;
¶"Except a spout of blood on the hot land,For it was hottest summer; and I knowI wonder'd how the fire, while I should stand,
¶"And burn, against the heat, would quiver so,Yards above my head; thus these matters went,Which things were only warnings of the woe
¶"That fell on me. Yet Mellyagraunce was shent,For Mellyagraunce had fought against the Lord;Therefore, my lords, take heed lest you be blent
¶"With all his wickedness; say no rash wordAgainst me, being so beautiful; my eyesWept all away to gray, may bring some sword[1191]"To drown you in your blood; see my breast riseLike waves of purple sea, as here I stand;And how my arms are moved in wonderful wise,
¶"Yea also at my full heart's strong command,See through my long throat how the words go upIn ripples to my mouth; how in my hand
¶"The shadow lies like wine within a cupOf marvellously color'd gold; yea nowThis little wind is rising, look you up,
¶"And wonder how the light is falling soWithin my moving tresses: will you dareWhen you have looked a little on my brow,
¶"To say this thing is vile? or will you careFor any plausible lies of cunning woof,Where you can see my face with no lie there
¶"For ever? am I not a gracious proof?—'But in your chamber Launcelot was found'—Is there a good knight then would stand aloof,
¶"When a queen says with gentle queenly sound:'O true as steel, come now and talk with me,I love to see your step upon the ground
¶" 'Unwavering, also well I love to seeThat gracious smile light up your face, and hearYour wonderful words, that all mean verily
¶" 'The thing they seem to mean: good friend, so dearTo me in everything, come here to-night,Or else the hours will pass most dull and drear;
¶" 'If you come not, I fear this time I mightGet thinking over much of times gone by,When I was young, and green hope was in sight:[1192]" 'For no man cares now to know why I sigh;And no man comes to sing me pleasant songs,Nor any brings me the sweet flowers that lie
¶" 'So thick in the gardens; therefore one so longsTo see you, Launcelot; that we may beLike children, once again, free from all wrongs
¶" 'Just for one night.' Did he not come to me ?What thing could keep true Launcelot awayIf I said, 'Come?' there was one less than three
¶"In my quiet room that night, and we were gay;Till sudden I rose up, weak, pale, and sick,Because a bawling broke our dream up, yea
¶"I looked at Launcelot's face and could not speak,For he looked helpless too, for a little while;Then I remember how I tried to shriek,
¶"And could not, but fell down; from tile to tileThe stones they threw up rattled o'er my headAnd made me dizzier; till within a while
¶"My maids were all about me, and my headOn Launcelot's breast was being soothed awayFrom its white chattering, until Launcelot said: . . .
¶"By God! I will not tell you more to-day,Judge any way you will: what matters it?You know quite well the story of that fray,
¶"How Launcelot still'd their bawling, the mad fitThat caught up Gauwaine, all, all, verily,But just that which would save me; these things flit.
¶"Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie,Whatever may have happen'd these long years,God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie![1193]"All I have said is truth, by Christ's dear tears."She would not speak another word, but stoodTurn'd sideways; listening, like a man who hears
¶His brother's trumpet sounding through the woodOf his foes' lances. She leaned eagerly,And gave a slight spring sometimes, as she could
¶At last hear something really; joyfullyHer cheek grew crimson, as the headlong speedOf the roan charger drew all men to see,The knight who came was Launcelot at good need.
728 Prologue of the Earthly Paradise
¶OF Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing,I cannot ease the burden of your fears,Or make quick-coming death a little thing,Or bring again the pleasure of past years,Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears,Or hope again for aught that I can say,The idle singer of an empty day.
¶But rather, when aweary of your mirth,From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh,And, feeling kindly unto all the earth,Grudge every minute as it passes by,Made the more mindful that the sweet days die——Remember me a little then I pray,The idle singer of an empty day.
¶The heavy trouble, the bewildering careThat weighs us down who live and earn our bread,These idle verses have no power to bear;So let me sing of names remembered,Because they, living not, can ne'er be dead,Or long time take their memory quite awayFrom us poor singers of an empty day.
¶Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time,Why should I strive to set the crooked straight?[1194]Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhymeBeats with light wing against the ivory gate,Telling a tale not too importunateTo those who in the sleepy region stay,Lulled by the singer of an empty day.
¶Folk say, a wizard to a northern kingAt Christmas-tide such wondrous things did show,That through one window men beheld the spring,And through another saw the summer glow,And through a third the fruited vines a-row,While still, unheard, but in its wonted way,Piped the drear wind of that December day.
¶So with this Earthly Paradise it is,If ye will read aright, and pardon me,Who strive to build a shadowy isle of blissMidmost the beating of the steely sea,Where tossed about all hearts of men must be;Whose ravening monsters mighty men shall slay,Not the poor singer of an empty day.
729 the Nymph's Song to Hylas
¶I KNOW a little garden-closeSet thick with lily and red rose,Where I would wander if I mightFrom dewy dawn to dewy night,And have one with me wandering.
¶And though within it no birds sing,And though no pillar'd house is there,And though the apple boughs are bareOf fruit and blossom, would to God,Her feet upon the green grass trod,And I beheld them as before!
¶There comes a murmur from the shore,And in the place two fair streams are,Drawn from the purple hills afar,Drawn down unto the resdess sea;[1195]The hills whose flowers ne'er fed the bee,The shore no ship has ever seen,Still beaten by the billows green,Whose murmur comes unceasinglyUnto the place for which I cry.For which I cry both day and night,For which I let slip all delight,That maketh me both deaf and blind,Careless to win, unskill'd to find,And quick to lose what all men seek.
¶Yet tottering as I am, and weak,Still have I left a little breathTo seek within the jaws of deathAn entrance to that happy place;To seek the unforgotten faceOnce seen, once kiss'd, once reft from meAnigh the murmuring of the sea.
7 jo THE DAY IS COMING
¶COME hither, lads, and harken, for a tale there is to tell,Of the wonderful days a-coming, when all shall be better than well.
¶And the tale shall be told of a country, a land in the midst of the sea,And folk shall call it England in the days that are going to be.
¶There more than one in a thousand in the days that are yet to come,Shall have some hope of the morrow, some joy of the ancient home.
¶For then, laugh not, but listen to this strange tale of mine,All folk that are in England shall be better lodged than swine.
¶Then a man shall work and bethink him, and rejoice in the deeds ofhis hand,Nor yet come home in the even too faint and weary to stand.
¶Men in that time a-coming shall work and have no fearFor to-morrow's lack of earning and the hunger-wolf anear.[1196]I tell you this for a wonder, that no man then shall be gladOf his fellow's fall and mishap to snatch at the work he had.
¶For that which the worker winneth shall then be his indeed,Nor shall half be reaped for nothing by him that sowed no seed.
¶O strange new wonderful justice! But for whom shall we gather thegain?For ourselves and for each of our fellows, and no hand shall labor in vain.
¶Then all Mine and all Thine shall be Ours, and no more shall anyman craveFor riches that serve for nothing but to fetter a friend for a slave.
¶And what wealth then shall be left us when none shall gather goldTo buy his friend in the market, and pinch and pine the sold?
¶Nay, what save the lovely city, and the little house on the hill,And the wastes and the woodland beauty, and the happy fields we till;
¶And the homes of ancient stories, the tombs of the mighty dead;And the wise men seeking out marvels, and the poet's teeming head;
¶And the painter's hand of wonder; and the marvelous fiddle-bow,And the banded choirs of music: all those that do and know.
¶For all these shall be ours and all men's; nor shall any lack a shareOf the toil and the gain of living in the days when the world grows fair.
¶Ah! such are the days that shall be! But what are the deeds of to-day,In the days of the years we dwell in, that wear our lives away?
¶Why, then, and for what are we waiting? There are three words tospeak;W E WILL IT, and what is the foeman but the dream-strong wakened andweak ?
¶O why and for what are we waiting? while our brothers droop and die,And on every wind of the heavens a wasted life goes by.[1197]How long shall they reproach us where crowd on crowd they dwell,Poor ghosts of the wicked city, the gold-crushed, hungry hell ?
¶Through squalid life they labored, in sordid grief they died,Those sons of a mighty mother, those props of England's pride.
¶They are gone; there is none can undo it, nor save our souls from thecurse;But many a million cometh, and shall they be better or worse?
¶It is we must answer and hasten, and open wide the doorFor the rich man's hurrying terror, and the slow-foot hope of the poor.
¶Yea, the voiceless wrath of the wretched, and their unlearned discontent,We must give it voice and wisdom till the waiting-tide be spent.
¶Come, then, since all things call us, the living and the dead,And o'er the weltering tangle a glimmering light is shed.
¶Come, then, let us cast off fooling, and put by ease and rest,For the Cause alone is worthy till the good days bring the best.
¶Come, join in the only battle wherein no man can fail,Where whoso fadeth and dieth, yet his deed shall still prevail.
¶Ah! come, cast off all fooling, for this, at least, we know:That the Dawn and the Day is coming, and forth the Banners go.
73j THE DAYS THAT WERE
¶WHILES in the early winter eveWe pass amid the gathering nightSome homestead that we had to leaveYears past; and see its candles brightShine in the room beside the doorWhere we were merry years agone,But now must never enter more,As still the dark road drives us on.E'en so the world of men may turnAt even of some hurried day[1198]And see the ancient glimmer burnAcross the waste that hath no way;Then, with that faint light in its eyes,Awhile I bid it linger nearAnd nurse in waving memoriesThe bitter sweet of days that were.