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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"

'
She turned to him with kind eyes and said:
'O mighty man, canst thou clear away the tangle which besetteth the
soul of her whose hope hath bewrayed her? Canst thou make hope grow
up in her heart? Friend, I will tell thee that when I wed, I shall
wed for the sake of the kindred, hoping for no joy therein. Yea, or
if by some chance the desire of man came again into my heart, I
should strive with it to rid myself of it, for I should know of it
that it was but a wasting folly, that should but beguile me, and
wound me, and depart, leaving me empty of joy and heedless of life.'
He shook his head and said: 'Even so thou deemest now; but one day
it shall be otherwise. Or dost thou love thy sorrow? I tell thee,
as it wears thee and wears thee, thou shalt hate it, and strive to
shake it off.'
'Nay, nay,' she said; 'I love it not; for not only it grieveth me,
but also it beateth me down and belittleth me.'
'Good is that,' said he. 'I know how strong thine heart is. Now,
wilt thou take mine hand, which is verily the hand of thy friend, and
remember what I have told thee of my grief which cannot be sundered
from thine? Shall we not talk more concerning this? For surely I
shall soon see thee again, and often; since the Warrior, who loveth
me belike, leadeth thee into fellowship with me.


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