William Morris

Across the empty garden-beds,
    When the Sword went out to sea,
I scarcely saw my sisters' heads
    Bowed each beside a tree.
I could not see the castle leads,
    When the Sword went out to sea,

Alicia wore a scarlet gown,
    When the Sword went out to sea,
But Ursula's was russet brown:
    For the mist we could not see
The scarlet roofs of the good town,
    When the Sword went out to sea.

Green holly in Alicia's hand,
    When the Sword went out to sea;
With sere oak-leaves did Ursula stand;
    O! yet alas for me!
I did but bear a peel'd white wand,
    When the Sword went out to sea.

O, russet brown and scarlet bright,
    When the Sword went out to sea,
My sisters...

The King has asked of his son so good,
"Why art thou hushed and heavy of mood?
O fair it is to ride abroad.
Thou playest not, and thou laughest not;
All thy good game is clean forgot."

"Sit thou beside me, father dear,
And the tale of my sorrow shalt thou hear.

Thou sendedst me unto a far-off land,
And gavest me into a good Earl's hand.

Now had this good Earl daughters seven,
The fairest of maidens under heaven.

One brought me my meat when I should dine,
One cut and sewed my raiment fine.

One washed and combed my yellow hair,
And one I fell to loving there.

Befell it on so fair a day,
We minded us to sport and play.

Down in a dale my horse bound I,
Bound on my saddle speedily.

Bright red she...

    No one goes there now:
        For what is left to fetch away
    From the desolate battlements all arow,
        And the lead roof heavy and grey?
Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,
This is the tune of Seven Towers.

    No one walks there now;
        Except in the white moonlight
    The white ghosts walk in a row;
        If one could see it, an awful sight,
Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers,
This is the tune of Seven Towers.

    But none can see them now,
        Though they sit by the side of the moat,
    Feet half in the water, there in a row,
        Long hair in the wind afloat.
Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,
This is the tune of Seven Towers.

    If any will go to it now,...

The Youths.

O Winter, O white winter, wert thou gone
No more within the wilds were I alone
Leaping with bent bow over stock and stone!

No more alone my love the lamp should burn,
Watching the weary spindle twist and turn,
Or o'er the web hold back her tears and yearn:
O winter, O white winter, wert thou gone!

The Maidens.

Sweet thoughts fly swiftlier than the drifting snow,
And with the twisting threads sweet longings grow,
And o'er the web sweet pictures come and go,
For no white winter are we long alone.

The Youths.

O stream so changed, what hast thou done to me,
That I thy glittering ford no more can see
Wreathing with white her fair feet lovingly?

See, in the rain she stands, and, looking ...

I heard men saying, Leave hope and praying,
    All days shall be as all have been;
To-day and to-morrow bring fear and sorrow,
    The never-ending toil between.

When Earth was younger mid toil and hunger,
    In hope we strove, and our hands were strong;
Then great men led us, with words they fed us,
    And bade us right the earthly wrong.

Go read in story their deeds and glory,
    Their names amidst the nameless dead;
Turn then from lying to us slow-dying
    In that good world to which they led;

Where fast and faster our iron master,
    The thing we made, for ever drives,
Bids us grind treasure and fashion pleasure
    For other hopes and other lives.

Where home is a hovel and dull we grovel,
    Forgetting that the world is...

I heard men saying, Leave hope and praying,
All days shall be as all have been;
To-day and to-morrow bring fear and sorrow,
The never-ending toil between.

When Earth was younger mid toil and hunger,
In hope we strove, and our hands were strong;
Then great men led us, with words they fed us,
And bade us right the earthly wrong.

Go read in story their deeds and glory,
Their names amidst the nameless dead;
Turn then from lying to us slow-dying
In that good world to which they led;

Where fast and faster our iron master,
The thing we made, for ever drives,
Bids us grind treasure and fashion pleasure
For other hopes and other lives.

Where home is a hovel and dull we grovel,
Forgetting that the world is fair;
Where no babe we cherish...

Ah! no, no, it is nothing, surely nothing at all,
Only the wild-going wind round by the garden-wall,
For the dawn just now is breaking, the wind beginning to fall.

        Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.

So I will sit, and think and think of the days gone by,
Never moving my chair for fear the dogs should cry,
Making no noise at all while the flambeau burns awry.

For my chair is heavy and carved, and with sweeping green behind
It is hung, and the dragons thereon grin out in the gusts of the wind;
On its folds an orange lies, with a deep gash cut in the rind.

        Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
        Wind, wind, unhappy...