Complete Works of William Morris, page 545
She said as she fell a-weeping,
“I shall have no pity till I am old.”
But they went up the river of Thames
Till to Barking town came they
And they mounted on goodly steeds
And gat them quick away.
To the little red house of Havering
They road through the green wood:
When the door shut after that lady
Right cold became her blood. . . .
For wete you well my good maidens
My love is a poor knight,
Yet I love him right sorely
For he is strong and wyght. . . .
He will be wood when he cometh back
That never again he may see me.
THAT SUMMER MORNING OUT IN THE GREEN FIELDS
That summer morning out in the green fields
Along the Itchen, sat King Arthur’s knights
Long robed and solemn, their brave battle shields
Hung in the canopies, to see such sights
As might be seen that morning, and to hear
Such strange grim words fiercer than many fights,
That on that morn ‘twixt anger and great fear
Brave lips and beautiful might writhe to say.
High up in wooden galleries anear
That solemn court of judgment dames sat — gay
With many coloured kirtles, yea, but some
Were sick and white with much fear on that day;
For now take notice, Launcelot was not come;
The lordly minstrel Tristram, nigh to death
From King Mark’s glaive, sat brooding at his home;
Gareth was riding fearful of men’s breath
Since he was Gawaine’s brother; through the trees
And over many a mountain and bare heath
The questing beast, wings spread out to the breeze,
Trailed Palomydes, wearied feet and sore,
And ever Lawaine was at Launcelot’s knees,
So he was missed too; ever more and more
Grew Gawaine’s nets round Guenevere the Queen.
Look round about what knights were there that wore
Sir Launcelot’s colours, the great snake of green
That twisted on the quartered white and red —
SCENES FROM THE FALL OF TROY
Of Argo and the golden Fleece and her
That made and marred thm all in a short while
As any potter might do with his clay
Medea the Colchian. We shall come one day
To land in Greece and all shall cry at me
See her who slew the sons of Priamus
Who threw to earth that right fair town of Troy
Who slew full many a mother’s sons of Greece
See how she walks still like a Queen by the Gods
Is there no faggot for her false white limbs
No sack wherein, close sewn and crying out
She may roll down the steep gulfs of the sea
Is there no butcher’s knife —
Paris
Nay Helen nay
The walls of Troy have got no faggot yet
Nor is the Bay of Troy choked-up with sacks
Full of dead Torojans: it will take at least
One knift to cut the throat of your poor knight
Perhchance a long one; kiss the place across
Here on the apple (she kisses him) lower down again
See near the collar-bone (He kisses her) and dear long knife
I shall be glad to die so
Helen
O Paris
Lips upon lips we think we think a right sweet game
But I have ruined you my poor Paris,
My poor kind knight that never for himself
Would look a yard before his sweet grey eyes
Alas Paris that thou should keep alive
The apple to Venus to give
Wherefore is burning mighty Troy
That else might well have been a joy
To many a man when thou art dead
Paris in arms again behold
And Helen clad in gown of gold
He takes fair Helen by the hand
And leads her down unto the strand
Over the sea they sail away,
To Troy they come upon a day
And there all folk make them good cheer
They have no knowledge and no fear
So Venus kept her promises true
But God I pray keep me & you
From suchlike gifts & suchlike joy
For so they set alight to Troy.
ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS
PUELLÆ
WHENCE comest thou, and whither goest thou?
Abide! abide! longer the shadows grow;
What hopest thou the dark to thee will show?
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
Why should I name the land across the sea
Wherein I first took hold on misery?
Why should I name the land that flees from me?
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
What wilt thou do within the desert place
Whereto thou turnest now thy careful face?
Stay but a while to tell us of thy case.
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
What, nigh the journey’s end shall I abide,
When in the waste mine own love wanders wide,
When from all men for me she still doth hide?
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELUÆ
Nay, nay; but rather she forgetteth thee,
To sit upon the shore of some warm sea,
Or in green gardens where sweet fountains be.
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
Will ye then keep me from the wilderness,
Where I at least, alone with my distress,
The quiet land of changing dreams may bless?
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
Forget the false forgetter and be wise,
And ‘mid these clinging hands and loving eyes,
Dream, not in vain, thou knowest paradise.
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
Ah! with your sweet eyes shorten not the day,
Nor let your gentle hands my journey stay!
Perchance love is not wholly cast away.
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
Pluck love away as thou wouldst pluck a thorn
From out thy flesh; for why shouldst thou be born
To bear a life so wasted and forlorn?
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
Yea, why then was I born, since hope is pain,
And life a lingering death, and faith but vain,
And love the loss of all I seemed to gain?
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
Dost thou believe that this shall ever be,
That in our land no face thou e’er shalt see,
No voice thou e’er shalt hear to gladden thee?
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
No longer do I know of good or bad,
I have forgotten that I once was glad;
I do but chase a dream that I have had.
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
Stay! take one image for thy dreamful night;
Come, look at her, who in the world’s despite
Weeps for delaying love and lost delight.
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
Mock me not till to-morrow. Mock the dead,
They will not heed it, or turn round the head,
To note who faithless are, and who are wed.
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
We mock thee not. Hast thou not heard of those
Whose faithful love the loved heart holds so close,
That death must wait till one word lets it loose?
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
I hear you not: the wind from off the waste
Sighs like a song that bids me make good haste
The wave of sweet forgetfulness to taste.
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
Come back! like such a singer is the wind,
As to a sad tune sings fair words and kind,
That he with happy tears all eyes may blind!
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
Did I not hear her sweet voice cry from far,
That o’er the lonely waste fair fields there are,
Fair days that know not any change or care?
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
Oh, no! not far thou heardest her, but nigh;
Nigh, ‘twixt the waste’s edge and the darkling sky.
Turn back again, too soon it is to die.
Abide! a little while be happy here.
AMANS
How with the lapse of lone years could I strive,
And can I die now that thou biddest live?
What joy this space ‘twixt birth and death can give.
Can we depart, who are so happy here?
THE SLEEVE OF GOLD
It was when the thrushes sing their best
In the pleasant month of May
Fair Catherine looked from her window
With a weary thing to say.
Ye sing so sweet oh thrushes she said
But little to my liking
Are the blossoms sweet to smell
She said a bitter thing
She said; but if God loved me still
I should pray here to Him
That some cold winter wind might blow
And pierce me limb by limb
Unless God had forgotten me
I should kneel down and pray
That I might go quite cold and stiff
Ere the dawning of the day.
I pray that God may strike me dead
Ere July comes, said she
That my small bones may all be white
Ere apples are red on the tree
For two sorrows in one day
Made a grief great and sore
This child that will be born one time
And my love I see no more
At Christmas when the frost was here
But and the cold wan snow
In my bower he lay anight
This makes me bitter woe
When the moon set he rode away
Small noise his horse-hoofs made
I sat and wept on my fair-wrought bed
By myself I was afraid
But or ever he went he said to me:
My sweet child and fair may,
Pray you be as glad when I come back
As you weep now I go away.
Before three months are wholly gone
Fair may I shall come back
And instead of the green coat of Fierne ?
I shall wear the grey steel jack
And instead of grey heron’s feather
The salade on my head salade, var. of sallet, helmet
And instead of the serving-man’s brass badge
My shield of white and red
I shall carry my shield of white and red
And the three hawks thereon
And whoever else shall have that same
It shall not be lightly won
And at my back shall men well see
Whether it be bright or mirk
The spears of my good men and true
As thick as these woods of birk
Now yonder lyeth on your fair bed
Your goodly gown of green
Thereto the sleeves of fine red gold
Are right richly beseen.
I pray you give me one of them
That I may bear it in every place
Between the hawks on my great helm
For simple joy of your sweet face
So that no man among the press
Whosoever he may be
But by great pain and much labour
May lightly win of me
So that no man be so hardy
But if he be right great of might
To meet me body to body
In clean armour for the fight.
It was mirk in the winter morning,
Small noise his lone hoofs made;
I sat and shivered till the light.
I was right bitterly afraid.
Among the ladies in the hall
I went that day in mortal dread
And whiles for fear my lips were white
And whiles for shame my cheeks were red.
They said; there goeth the sleeveless
She hath given away her sleeve,
To some leman we make no doubt,
Thereof shall she grieve
When he comes not back again,
Nor her fine sleeve of gold
Before a year is well passed over
She’ll wish to be under the mould.
Yea so, my arm was bare and cold
All the wan winter long
And in the sweet May gardens
When the minstrels are at their song
FW version The hot sun burns it bitterly
And my shame draws on apace
My feet feel weak on the daisies
The south wind chills my face
Fair Catherine bided at her window
Till the yellow moon shone fair
And she looked like Gods dear mother
For her fingers and her hair
But as it grew to the midnight
She heard one who went below
She deemed it was but the carle archer
At his watch walking slow.
Sleep you or wake you may Catherine
Have here your golden sleeve
Mount up behind may Catherine
And ask no mans leave
O Knight Richard my love Richard
How can I come to thee
There are thick walls and many things
Betwixt you and mee
Withouten a ladder shall I climb
Adown my fathers wall
Shall I swim the moat in my kirtle
Though I am proper and tall
Will the silk across my white breast
Serve for a jack of steel
To keep the steel bolt from my heart
That no leech then can heal
For every hour of the night
Six archers strong and tall
With winded arblasts and steel bolts arbalest or arblast, field bow, used to fire stone
Go round the castle wall
O May Catherine O may Catherine
When shall I come back
And bring with me my true men
With spear and sword and jack
Knight Richard in o week from this,
Hay harvest will begin
Come to the wet croft with your true men
For I shall be therein
There all day long we maidens fair
Weave wreaths both fresh and sweet
Of Lady smock and the white daisies
That men clepe Marguerite
And all our men both carle and Lord
To the upland meads shall be gone
With the long scythe and the tedding fork
We dames shall be alone
Go hooly my knight I hear the watch
Cry out along the wall
Knight Richard swam the outer dyke
He was both strong and tall
Knight Richard loup the outer pale loup,
Where the grass grew long
And he loup up to his bonny grey steed
That was both fair and strong
He weareth no arms but an old salade
Thereby I could not see his face
It was merry times tunes? in the good house
In that sweet month from day to day
Always was there fair sport
Deeds of arms or minstrels play
Knights and ladies deem’d that tide
The time went merry and fast enow
Fair Catherine thought by my fay
That the time never went so slow
Fair dames looked this way and that
At minstrel singing or clean armed knight
May Catherine on her part
Turned neither to the left or right
Those fair dames for play and joy
Held their faces red as rose
Fair Catherines face was grown as white
As any lily that blows
But when it came to hay harvest
To the wet croft they went to play
And all the men folk both Lord and carle
To the upland fields were away
And there they wove them fresh garlands
Of the Ladysmock so sweet
And of the little white daisies
That men clepe Margueruite sic
Fair Catherine drank the wan water
Many a time that day
For doubt her heart could scarce beat
While she seemed well to play
Catherine drank the wan water
She sickened from hour to hour
As she stooped over her golden shoes
To pull the bonny flower
The sun was down behind the birks
When Knight Richard came
