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Morris, William, 1834-1896

"The Roots of the Mountains; Wherein Is Told Somewhat of the Lives of the Men of Burgdale"

This at least thou may'st do
for me. Wilt thou?'
'Yea,' he said, 'though it shall put me to shame.'
Again she was silent for a little; then she said:
'O Gold-mane, this would I take upon myself not soothly for any shame
of seeming to be thy cast-off; but because it is I who needs must
bear all the sorrow of our sundering; and I have the will to bear it
greater and heavier, that I may be as the women of old time, and they
that have come from the Gods, lest I belittle my life with malice and
spite and confusion, and it become poisonous to me. Be at peace! be
at peace! And leave all to the wearing of the years; and forget not
that which thou hast sworn!'
Therewith she turned and went from that green place toward the House
of the Face, walking slowly through the garden amongst the sweet
odours, beneath the fair blossoms, a body most dainty and beauteous
of fashion, but the casket of grievous sorrow, which all that
goodliness availed not.
But Face-of-god lingered in that place a little, and for that little
while the joy of his life was dulled and overworn; and the days
before his wandering on the mountain seemed to him free and careless
and happy days that he could not but regret.


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