MORRIS.
(A.D. 1872.)
love is enough.
O friend, I have seen her no more, and her mourning
Is alone and unhelped — yet to-night or to-morrow
Somewhat nigher will I be to her love and her longing.
Lo, to thee, friend, alone of all folk on the earth
These things have I told: for a true man I deem thee
Beyond all men call true; yea, a wise man moreover
And hardy and helpful; and I know thy heart surely
That thou holdest the world nought without me thy fosterling.
Come, leave all, awhile I it may be, as time weareth,
With new life in our hands we shall wend us back hither.
. . . . . . .
One beckoneth her back hitherward — even Death —
And who was that, Beloved, but even I?
Yet though her feet and sunlight are drawn nigh
The cold grass where he lieth like the dead,
To ease your hearts a little of their dread
I will abide her coming, and in speech
He knoweth, somewhat of his welfare teach.
. . . . . . .
Hearken, O Pharamond, why camest thou hither?
. . . . . . .
I came seeking Death; I have found him belike.
. . . . . . .
In what land of the world art thou lying, Pharamond?
. . . . . . .
In a land 'twixt two worlds; nor long shall I dwell there.
. . . . . . .
Who am I, Pharamond, that stand here beside thee?
. . . . . . .
The Death I have sought — thou art welcome; I greet thee.
. . . . . . .
