Complete Works of William Morris, page 404
And nought she moved; the field-mouse passed
Close to her feet, the dragon-fly,
A thin blue needle flickered by,
The bee whirled past her as the morn
Grew later, and strange thoughts were born
Within her.
So she raised her head
At last, and, gazing round, she said:
“Is pitying love all dead on earth?
Is no heart left that holds of worth
Love that hands touch not, and that eyes
Behold not? Is none left so wise
As not to know the smart of bliss
That dieth out ‘twixt kiss and kiss?”
She stopped and trembled, for she heard
The hawthorn brake beside her stirred,
Then turned round, half unwittingly,
Across the meadow-grass to flee,
And knew not whither, as, half blind,
She heard the rustling twigs behind,
And therewithal a breathless cry
And eager footsteps drawing nigh.
With streaming hair, a little way
She fled across the trodden hay,
Then failed her feet, and turning round,
She cowered low upon the ground,
With wild eyes turned to meet her fate,
E’en as the partridge doth await,
With half-dead breast and broken wing,
The winged death the hawk doth bring.
Dim with the horror of that race,
Wild eyes her eyes met, and pale face,
And trembling outstretched hands that moved
No nigher to her body loved,
Whereto they had been brought so near.
For very fear of her wild fear.
So each of other sore afraid,
There fleer and pursuer stayed,
Each gathering breath and heart to speak —
And he too hopeless, she too weak,
For a long space to say a word.
Yet first her own faint voice she heard,
For in his hand she saw the skin,
And deemed she knew what he would win,
And how that morning’s deed had gone:
“What have I done? what have I done?
Did I work ever harm to thee,
That thou this day my bane shouldst be?
Why is there such hate in thine eyes
Against me?”
From his breast did rise
A dumb sound, but no word came forth;
She shrank aback yet more:
“What worth,
What worth in all that thou hast done?
For say my body thou hast won,
Art thou God, then, to keep alive,
Unless my will therewith I give?”
E’en as she spake, a look of pain
Twitched at his face; she spoke again:
“For now I see thou hat’st me not,
But thinkest thou a prize hast got
Thou wilt not lightly cast away:
O hearken, hearken! — a poor prey
Thy toils shall take, a thing of stone
Amid your folk to dwell alone
And hide a heart that hateth thee.”
He shrank back from her wretchedly,
And dropped his hand and hung his head;
“Nay, now I hate thee not,” she said —
“And who knows what may come to be
If thou but give mine own to me,
And free this trembling body here?
Wouldst thou rejoice if thou wert dear,
Dear unto me though far away,
And hope still fed thee day by day?”
She deemed he wept now, as he turned
Away from her, and her heart yearned
Somewhat toward him as she spake:
“And if thou dost this for my sake,
Wilt thou, for all that, deem this morn
Has made thee utterly forlorn?
Hast thou not cast thine arms round Love
At least, thy weary heart to move,
To make thy wakening strange and new,
And dull life false and old tales true;
Yea, and a tale to make thy life
To speed the others in the strife,
To quicken thee with wondrous fire,
And make thee fairer with desire?
Wilt thou, then, think it all in vain,
‘The restless longing and the pain,
Lightened by hope that shall not die?
For thou shalt hope still certainly,
And well mayst deem that thou hast part,
Somewhat, at least, in this my heart,
Whatever else therein may be.”
He turned about most eagerly
And gazed upon her for a while .
Wild fear had left her, and a smile
Had lit up now her softened face,
Sweet pleading kindness gave new grace
To all her beauty; fresh again
Her cheeks grew, haggard erst with pain
She saw the deep love in his eyes,
And slowly therewithal ‘gan rise,
While something in her heart there moved,
Some pleasure to be well beloved,
Some pain because of doubt and fear,
Of once-loved things grown scarce so dear;
Less clear all things she seemed to see,
Her wisdom in life’s mystery
Seemed fleeting, and for very shame
A tingling flush across her came.
But close unto him did she stand,
And, reaching out her little hand,
Took his, and in strange searching wise
Gazed on him with imploring eyes;
And with the sweetness of that touch
And look, wrought fear and hope o’ermuch
Within him, and his eyes waxed dim,
And trembling sore in every limb,
He slid adown, and knelt, and said:
“O sweetly certes hast thou prayed,
Nor used vain words, but smitten me
With all the greater agony
For all thy sweetness: so, indeed,
If thou art holpen well at need
By this thy prayer, yet meet it is
Ere this one moment of great bliss
Has turned to nought all life to come,
That thou shouldst hear me ere my doom,
— And yet indeed what prayer to make
Thy heart amid its calm to shake,
When thou art gone — when thou art gone,
And I and woe are left alone!
— What fiercest word shall yet avail
If this my first and last one fail —
Wherewith shall the hard heart be moved
If this move not, that it is loved?”
His eager hand her hand did press,
His eyes devoured her loveliness.
But silent she a short while stood,
Her face now pale, now red as blood,
While her lip trembled, and her eyes
Grew wet to see his miseries,
At last she spake with down-cast head;
“Alas, what shall I do?” she said,
“Thy prayer shall make me sorrow more
Whenas I go to that far shore
I needs must go to; for I know,
Poor soul! that thou wilt let me go,
Since thou art grown too wise and kind
My helpless soul with force to bind —
— Would thou might’st have some part in me!”
She shrank aback afraid, for he
Now sprang up with a bitter cry:
“Thou knowest not my agony!
Thou knowest not the words thou say’st,
Or what a wretched, empty waste
This remnant of my life is grown,
Or how I need thee all alone
To heal the wound this morn has made!
— Why tremblest thou? — be not afraid;
I will not leave thee any more:
Come near to me! My mother bore
No dreadful thing when I was born.
Fear not, thou art not yet forlorn,
As I, as I, as I shall be
If ever thou shouldst go from me.”
She shrank no more, but looked adown
And said, “Alas! why dost thou frown?
Wilt thou be ever angry thus?”
Her voice was weak and piteous
As thus she spake, and in her breast
A sob there moved, yet hard she pressed
The hand she held: too sweet was love
For any word his lips to move;
Too sweet was hope that lips might dare
To touch her sweet cheek smooth and fair.
Yet with her downcast eyes she knew
That nigher ever his face drew
To hers, and new-born love did flame
Out from her heart, as now there came
A sound half sigh, half moan from him;
She trembled sore, all things ‘gan swim
Before her eyes, nor felt her feet
The firm earth — for all over-sweet
For sight or hearing life ‘gan grow,
As panting, and with changed eyes now,
She raised her parted lips to his.
But ere their fair young mouths might kiss,
While hand stole unto hand, and breath
Met breath, the image of cold death,
With his estranging agonies,
Smote on her heart that once was wise;
As touched by some sharp sudden sting,
Back from her love’s arms did she spring,
And stood there trembling; and her cry
Rang through the morn:
“Why shouldst thou die
Amidst thy just-won joy?” she said,
“And must I see thee stark and dead
Who have beheld thy gathering bliss?
Touch me no more yet — so it is
That thy fierce heart hath conquered me,
That I no more may look on thee
Without desire — for such an end
I hitherward, belike, did wend,
Led on by fate, and knew it not —
But if thy love is e’en as hot
As thine eyes say, what wilt thou do?
Loved or loved not, still is it so,
That in thy land I may not live.
Too strong thou art that I should strive
With thee and love — Yet what say’st thou?
Art thou content thy love to throw
Unto the waste of time, and dwell
Here in thy land, and fare right well,
Feared, hated maybe, yet through all
A conquering man, whate’er shall fall —
— Or, in mine own land be mine own,
Live long, perchance, yet all unknown,
Love for thy master and thy law,
Nor hope another lot to draw
From out life’s urn? — Think of it, then!
Be great among the sons of men
Because I love thee, and forget
That here amid the hay we met —
Or else be loved and love, the while
Life’s vision doth thine eyes beguile.”
He fell upon his knees, and cried:
“Ah, wilt thou go? — the world is wide
And waste; we were together here
A while ago, and I grew dear
To thee, I deemed — what hast thou said?
Behold, behold, the world is dead,
And I must die, or ere I deal
With its dead follies more, or feel
The dead men’s dreams that move men there,
— Alas, how shall I make my prayer
To thee, who lovedest me time agone,
No more to leave my heart alone?”
Musing, his passionate speech she heard,
And with a strange look, half afeard,
Half pitying, did she gaze on him,
Until through tears that sight waxed dim;
At last she spake:
“No need to pray
Lest I thy love, O love, betray;
But many a thought there is in me
If I through love might clearly see;
— But the morn wanes fast, dear, arise
And let me hence, lest eviler eyes
Than thine behold my body here,
And thou shouldst buy thy bliss too dear;
So bring me to some place anigh
Amid thick trees, where thou and I
May be alone a little space,
To make us ready for the place
Where love may still be happiness
Unmixed with change and ill distress.”
He gazed on her, but durst not speak,
Nor noted how a sigh did break
The sweetness of her speech, but took
Her white hand with a hand that shook
For very love, and o’er the grass,
Scarce knowing where his feet did pass,
He led her, till they came at last
Unto a beech-wood, where the mast
And dry leaves, made a carpet meet,
Sun-speckled, underneath their feet.
She stopped him, grown all grave and calm,
And laid lips like a healing balm
Upon his brow and spake:
“Ah, would
That I who know of ill and good,
And thou who may’st learn e’en as much
By misery, might deem this touch
Of calm lips, joy enough to last
Till life with all its whirl were past —
This kiss, and memory of the morn
Whereon the sweet desire was born.”
He trembled, and beseechingly
Gazed on her: “Ah, no, no,” said she,
“No more with thee this day I strive,
E’en as thou prayedst will I give;
Belike because I may not choose,
Nay nor may let my own soul loose.
Is it enow?”
Once more he strove,
With some sweet word to bless his love
And might not; but she smiled and said:
“The lovers of old time are dead,
And so too shall it be with thee.
Yea, hast thou heard no history
Of lovers who outlived the love
That once they deemed the world would move?
And so too may it be with thee.
— Nay stretch thy right hand out to me,
Poor soul, and all shall soon be done.”
A gold ring with a dark green stone
Upon his finger then she set,
And said: “Thou may’st repent thee yet
The giving of this gift to-day;
Be wise then! Cast the ring away,
Give me my own and get thee gone;
For all the past, not so alone
Shall thou and I then be, as erst;
Sad, longing, loving, not accurst.”
She trembled as she spake, and turned
Unto his eyes a face that yearned
With great desire, although her eyes
Seemed wonderful and overwise.
But pain of anger changed his face,
He said; “I have compelled thy grace,
But not thy love then; do to me
E’en as thou willest, and go free.”
She murmured; “Nay, what wilt thou have?
Thou prayedst and the gift I gave,
Giving what I might not withhold,
In spite of wisdom clear and cold.
— Alas, poor heart unsatisfied,
Why wilt thou love? the world is wide
And holdeth many a joyous thing:
Why wilt thou for thy misery cling
To that desire that resteth not
What part soever thou hast got
Of that whose whole thou ne’er shalt gain?
Alas for thee and me, most vain,
Most vain to wrangle more of this!
Come then, where wait us woe and bliss,
Give me the swan-skin, lay thee down,
Nought doubting, on the beech-leaves brown!”
What spell weighed on his heart but love
I know not, but nought might he move
Except to do her whole command;
He lay adown, and on his hand
Rested his cheek; his eyes grew dim,
Yet saw he the white beech-trunks slim
At first; and his fair-footed love
He saw ‘twixt sun and shadow move
Close unto him, and languidly
Her rosy fingers did he see
About the ruffled swan-skin white,
Even as when that strange delight
First maddened him; then dimmer grew
His sight, and yet withal he knew
That over him she hung, and blessed
His face with her sweet eyes, till rest,
As deep as death as soft as sleep,
Across his troubled heart did creep;
And then a long time seemed gone by
And ‘mid soft herbage did he lie
With shut eyes, half awake, and seemed
Some dream forgotten to have dreamed,
So sweet, he fain would dream again;
Then came back memory with a pain,
Like death first heard of; with a cry
And fear swift born of memory
He oped his eyes, that dazed with light
Long kept from them, saw nought aright;
But something kind, and something fair,
Seemed yet to be anigh him there,
Whereto he stretched his arms, that met
Soft hands, and his own hands were set
On a smooth cheek, he seemed to know
From days agone;
“Sweet, sweet doth blow
The gentle wind,” he said, “whereas
Surely o’er blossoms it doth pass
If any there be made so sweet.”
And as he spake, his lips did meet
In one unhoped, undreamed-of kiss,
The very heart of all his bliss.
Like waking from an ecstasy,
Too sweet for truth it seemed to be,
Waking to life full satisfied
When he arose, and side by side,
Cheek touching cheek, hand laid in hand,
They stood within a marvellous land,
Fruitful, and summer-like, and fair.
The light wind sported with her hair,
Crowned with a leaf-like crown of gold,
Or round her limbs drave lap and fold
