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Morris, William, 1834-1896

"The Well at the World's End: a tale"


So help me Saint Nicholas, and all Hallows, and the Mother of God!"
She looked on him with exceeding love, and said: "Ah, beloved,
how fair thou art! Is it not as I said, yea, and more, that now
lieth the world at thy feet, if thou wilt stoop to pick it up?
Believe me, sweet, all folk shall see this as I see it, and shall
judge betwixt thee and me, and deem me naught."
"Beloved," he said, "thou dost not wholly know thyself;
and I deem that the mirrors of steel serve thee but ill;
and now must thou have somewhat else for a mirror, to wit,
the uprising and increase of trouble concerning thee and
thy fairness, and the strife of them that love thee overmuch,
who shall strive to take thee from me; and then the blade that hath
seen the Well at the World's End shall come out of his sheath
and take me and thee from the hubbub, and into the quiet fields
of my father's home, and then shalt thou be learned of thyself,
when thou seest that thou art the desire of all hearts."
"Ah, the wisdom of thee," she said, "and thy valiancy,
and I am become feeble and foolish before thee!
What shall I do then?"
He said: "Many a time shall it be shown what thou shalt do; but here
and now is the highway dry and long, and the plain meads and acres
on either hand, and a glimmer of Whitwall afar off, and the little
cloud of dust about us two in the late spring weather; and the Sage
and Michael riding behind us, and smiting dust from the hard road.


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