Poems by the Way

William Morris
by William Morris
From the Upland to the Sea?Of the Wooing of Hallbiorn the Strong?Echoes of Love's House?The Burghers' Battle?Hope Deith: Love Liveth?Error and Loss?The Hall and the Wood?The Day of Days?To the Muse of the North?Of the Three Seekers?Love's Gleaning-Tide?The Message of the March Wind?A Death Song?Iceland First Seen?The Raven and the King's Daughter?Spring's Bedfellow?Meeting in Winter?The Two Sides of the River?Love Fulfilled?The King of Denmark's Sons?On the Edge of the Wilderness?A Garden by the Sea?Mother and Son?Thunder in the Garden?The God of the Poor?Love's Reward?The Folk-Mote by the River?The Voice of Toil?Gunnar's Howe above the House at Lithend?The Day is Coming?Earth the Healer, Earth the Keeper?All for the Cause?Pain and Time Strive Not?Drawing near the Light?Verses for Pictures
For the Briar-Rose?Another for the Briar-Rose?The Woodpecker?The Lion?The Forest?Pomona?Flora?The Orchard?Tapestry Trees?The Flowering Orchard?The End of May?The Half of Life Gone?Mine and Thine?The Lay of Christine?Hildebrand and Hellelil?The Son's Sorrow?Agnes and the Hill-Man?Knight Aagen and Maiden Else?Hafbur and Signy?Goldilocks and Goldilocks
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 meads?Till our very joyance needs?Rest at last; till we shall come?To 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 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 hand nigh touching 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!
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 Whitewater?Of Hallgerd many a tale we hear."?"Tales enow may my daughter make?If 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 forth?Comes 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.?Lo, now the night and rain draweth up,?And within doors glimmer stoop and cup.?And hark, a little sound I know,?The laugh of Snaebiorn's fiddle-bow,?My sister's son, and a craftsman good,?When the red rain drives through the iron wood."?Hallbiorn laughed, and followed in,?And a merry feast there did begin.?Hallgerd's hands undid his weed,?Hallgerd's hands poured out the mead.?Her fingers at his breast he felt,?As her hair fell down about his belt.?Her fingers with the cup he took,?And o'er its rim at her did look.?Cold cup, warm hand, and fingers slim,?Before his eyes were waxen dim.?And if the feast were foul or fair,?He knew not, save that she was there.?He knew not if men laughed or wept,?While still 'twixt wall and dais she stept.?Whether she went or stood that eve,?Not once his eyes her face did
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