William Morris: Meeting in Winter

William Morris

(1834-1896)

 

Meeting in Winter

Winter in the world it is,

Round about the unhoped kiss

Whose dream I long have sorrowed o’er;

Round about the longing sore,

That the touch of thee shall turn

Into joy too deep to burn.

 

Round thine eyes and round thy mouth

Passeth no murmur of the south,

When my lips a little while

Leave thy quivering tender smile,

As we twain, hand holding hand,

Once again together stand.

 

Sweet is that, as all is sweet;

For the white drift shalt thou meet,

Kind and cold-cheeked and mine own,

Wrapped about with deep-furred gown

In the broad-wheeled chariot:

Then the north shall spare us not;

The wide-reaching waste of snow

Wilder, lonelier yet shall grow

As the reddened sun falls down.

 

But the warders of the town,

When they flash the torches out

O’er the snow amid their doubt,

And their eyes at last behold

Thy red-litten hair of gold;

Shall they open, or in fear

Cry, “Alas! What cometh here?

Whence hath come this Heavenly

To tell of all the world undone?”

 

They shall open, and we shall see

The long street litten scantily

By the long stream of light before

The guest-hall’s half-open door;

And our horses’ bells shall cease

As we reach the place of peace;

Thou shalt tremble, as at last

The worn threshold is o’er-past,

And the fire-light blindeth thee:

Trembling shalt thou cling to me

As the sleepy merchants stare

At thy cold hands slim and fair,

Thy soft eyes and happy lips

Worth all lading of their ships.

 

O my love, how sweet and sweet

That first kissing of thy feet,

When the fire is sunk alow,

And the hall made empty now

Groweth solemn, dim and vast!

O my love, the night shall last

Longer than men tell thereof

Laden with our lonely love!

William Morris poetry

kempis poetry magazine

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