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from Idylls of the King: Merlin and Vivien
In Love, if Love be Love,
if Love be ours,
Faith and unfaith can ne'er
be equal powers:
Unfaith in aught is want
of faith in all.
It is the little rift within
the lute,
That by and by will make
the music mute,
And ever widening slowly
silence all.
The little rift within the
lover's lute
Or little pitted speck in
garner'd fruit,
That rotting inward slowly
moulders all.
It is not worth the keeping:
let it go:
But shall it? answer, darling,
answer, no.
And trust me not at all
or all in all.
(Wr. 1856; pub. 1859)
The Best Thing in the World
What's the best thing in
the world?
June-rose, by May-dew impearled;
Sweet south-wind, that means
no rain;
Truth, not cruel to a friend;
Pleasure, not in haste to
end;
Beauty, not self-decked
and curled
Till its pride is over-plain;
Light, that never makes
you wink;
Memory, that gives no pain;
Love, when, so, you're loved
again,
What's the best thing in
the world?
--Something out of it, I
think.
(1862)
Love's Pains
I
This love, I canna' bear
it,
It cheats me night and day;
This love, I canna' wear
it,
It takes my peace away.
II
This love, wa' once a flower;
But now it is a thorn, -
The joy o' evening hour,
Turn'd to a pain e're morn.
III
This love, it wa' a bud,
And a secret known to me;
Like a flower within a wood;
Like a nest within a tree.
IV
This love, wrong understood.
Oft' turned my joy to pain;
I tried to throw away the
bud,
But the blossom would remain.
(Wr. 1844; pub. 1949)
Song
I wish i was where I would
be
With love alone to dwell
Was I but her or she but
me
Then love would all be well
I wish to send my thoughts
to her
As quick as thoughts can
fly
But as the winds the waters
stir
The mirrors change &
flye
(Wr. 1842-64; pub. 1920)
Love and Language
Love that is alone with love
Makes solitudes of throngs;
Then why not songs of silences,-
Sweet silences of songs?
Parts need words: the perfect
whole
Is silent as the dead;
When I offered you my soul
Heard you what I said?
(1882)
Love is enough: though the
World be a-waning,
And the woods have no voice
but the voice of complaining,
Though the skies be to dark
for dim eyes to discover
The gold-cups and daisies
fair blooming thereunder,
Though the hills be held
shadows, and the sea a dark wonder,
And this day draw a veil
over all deeds pass'd over,
Yet their hands shall not
tremble, their feet shall not falter:
The void shall not weary,
the fear shall not alter
These lips and these eyes
of the loved and the lover.
William Morris