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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"

There then shall we be in the garden, beholding how the
hall-windows are yellow, and hearkening the sound of the hall-glee
borne across the flowers and blending with the voice of the
nightingales in the trees. There then shall we go along the grass
paths whereby the pinks and the cloves and the lavender are sending
forth their fragrance, to cheer us, who faint at the scent of the
over-worn roses, and the honey-sweetness of the lilies.
'All this is for thee, and for nought but for thee this even; and
many a blossom whereof thou knowest nought shall grieve if thy foot
tread not thereby to-night; if the path of thy wedding which I have
made, be void of thee, on the even of the Chamber of Love.
'But lo! at last at the garden's end is the yew-walk arched over for
thee, and thou canst not see whereby to enter it; but I, I know it,
and I lead thee into and along the dark tunnel through the moonlight,
and thine hand is not weary of mine as we go. But at the end shall
we come to a wicket, which shall bring us out by the gable-end of the
Hall of the Face. Turn we about its corner then, and there are we
blinking on the torches of the torch-bearers, and the candles through
the open door, and the hall ablaze with light and full of joyous
clamour, like the bale-fire in the dark night kindled on a ness above
the sea by fisher-folk remembering the Gods.


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