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The Poetry Of William Morris: "The reward of labour is life. Is that not enough?"
The Poetry Of William Morris: "The reward of labour is life. Is that not enough?"
The Poetry Of William Morris: "The reward of labour is life. Is that not enough?"
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The Poetry Of William Morris: "The reward of labour is life. Is that not enough?"

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The Poetry Of William Morris. Poetry is a fascinating use of language. With almost a million words at its command it is not surprising that these Isles have produced some of the most beautiful, moving and descriptive verse through the centuries. In this series we look at individual poets who have shaped and influenced their craft and cement their place in our heritage. In this volume we look at the works of William Morris. William Morris was born in Walthamstow, London on 24th March 1834 he is regarded today as a foremost poet, writer, textile designer, artist and libertarian. Morris began to publish poetry and short stories in 1856 through the Oxford and Cambridge Magazine which he founded with his friends and financed while at university. His first volume, in 1858, The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, was the first published book of Pre-Raphaelite poetry. Due to its lukewarm reception he was discouraged from poetry writing for a number of years. His return to poetry was with the great success of The Life and Death of Jason in 1867, which was followed by The Earthly Paradise, themed around a group of medieval wanderers searching for a land of everlasting life; after much disillusion, they discover a surviving colony of Greeks with whom they exchange stories. In the collection are retellings of Icelandic sagas. From then until his Socialist period Morris's fascination with the ancient Germanic and Norse peoples dominated his writing being the first to translate many of the Icelandic sagas into English; the epic retelling of the story of Sigurd the Volsung being his favourite. In 1884 he founded the Socialist League but with the rise of the Anarachists in the party he left it in 1890. In 1891 he founded the Kelmscott Press publishing limited edition illuminated style books. His design for The Works of Geoffrey Chaucer is a masterpiece. Morris was quietly approached with an offer of the Poet Laureateship after the death of Tennyson in 1892, but declined.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateSep 24, 2013
ISBN9781780005621
The Poetry Of William Morris: "The reward of labour is life. Is that not enough?"
Author

William Morris

William Morris has worked on international tax policy matters in the public and private sectors for over twenty years. He is also a member of the clergy team at St Martin-in-the-Fields, having been ordained a priest in the Church of England in 2010. He has degrees in history, law and theology, and is the author of 'Where is God at Work?'

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    I recall Guenevere's argument --suppose you were told to choose a red thread or a blue and be saved or damned by the result --she chose blue, as heaven's color, and was damned.

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The Poetry Of William Morris - William Morris

The Poetry Of William Morris

Poetry is a fascinating use of language.  With almost a million words at its command it is not surprising that these Isles have produced some of the most beautiful, moving and descriptive verse through the centuries.  In this series we look at individual poets who have shaped and influenced their craft and cement their place in our heritage.  In this volume we look at the works of William Morris.

William Morris was born in Walthamstow, London on 24th March 1834 he is regarded today as a foremost poet, writer, textile designer, artist and libertarian. 

Morris began to publish poetry and short stories in 1856 through the Oxford and Cambridge Magazine which he founded with his friends and financed while at university. His first volume, in 1858, The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, was the first published book of Pre-Raphaelite poetry. Due to its luke warm reception he was discouraged from poetry writing for a number of years.

His return to poetry was with the great success of The Life and Death of Jason in 1867, which was followed by The Earthly Paradise, themed around a group of medieval wanderers searching for a land of everlasting life; after much disillusion, they discover a surviving colony of Greeks with whom they exchange stories. In the collection are retellings of Icelandic sagas. From then until his Socialist period Morris's fascination with the ancient Germanic and Norse peoples dominated his writing being the first to translate many of the Icelandic sagas into English; the epic retelling of the story of Sigurd the Volsung being his favourite.

 In 1884 he founded the Socialist League but with the rise of the Anarachists in the party he left it in 1890.

In 1891 he founded the Kelmscott Press publishing limited edition illuminated style books.  His design for The Works of Geoffrey Chaucer is a masterpiece.

Morris was quietly approached with an offer of the Poet Laureateship after the death of Tennyson in 1892, but declined.

William Morris died at age 62 on 3rd October 1896 in London.

Many samples of his work are available on our audiobook collection.  Samples of these can be found at our youtube channel   http://www.youtube.com/user/PortablePoetry?feature=mhee    Complete  volumes on many poets, themes and our other products can be purchased from iTunes, Amazon and other digital stores

Index Of Poems

A Death Song

Verses For Pictures

From The Upland To The Sea

The Message Of The March Wind

Error And Loss

The Voice Of Toil

Earth The Healer, Earth The Keeper

Drawing Near The Light

Day

Autumn

Pomona

All For The Cause

Shameful Death

Sad Eyed And Soft And Grey

The Two Sides Of The River

Pray But One Prayer For Us

The Day Of Days

Our Hands Have Met

Thunder In The Garden

Tapestry Trees

The Forest

Pain And Time Strive Not

For The Bed At Kelmscott

Atlanta’s Race

The Half Of Life Gone

The Doomed Ship

Summer Dawn

The Day Is Coming

March

Spring

The End Of May

Summer

Meeting In Winter

Near Avalon

Love’s Gleaning Tide

Mine And Thine

Love’s Reward

King Arthur’s Tomb

A Death Song

What cometh here from west to east awending?

And who are these, the marchers stern and slow?

We bear the message that the rich are sending

Aback to those who bade them wake and know.

Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,

But one and all if they would dusk the day.

We asked them for a life of toilsome earning,

They bade us bide their leisure for our bread;

We craved to speak to tell our woeful learning;

We come back speechless, bearing back our dead.

Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,

But one and all if they would dusk the day.

They will not learn; they have no ears to hearken.

They turn their faces from the eyes of fate;

Their gay-lit halls shut out the skies that darken.

But, lo! this dead man knocking at the gate.

Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,

But one and all if they would dusk the day.

Here lies the sign that we shall break our prison;

Amidst the storm he won a prisoner's rest;

But in the cloudy dawn the sun arisen

Brings us our day of work to win the best.

Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,

But one and all if they would dusk the day.

Verses For Pictures

Day.

I am Day; I bring again

Life and glory, Love and pain:

Awake, arise! from death to death

Through me the World’s tale quickeneth.

Spring.

Spring am I, too soft of heart

Much to speak ere I depart:

Ask the Summer-tide to prove

The abundance of my love.

Summer.

Summer looked for long am I;

Much shall change or e’er I die.

Prithee take it not amiss

Though I weary thee with bliss.

Autumn.

Laden Autumn here I stand

Worn of heart, and weak of hand:

Nought but rest seems good to me,

Speak the word that sets me free.

Winter.

I am Winter, that do keep

Longing safe amidst of sleep:

Who shall say if I were dead

What should be remembered?

Night.

I am Night: I bring again

Hope of pleasure, rest from pain:

Thoughts unsaid ’twixt Life and Death

My fruitful silence quickeneth.

From The Upland To The Sea

Shall we wake one morn of spring,

Glad at heart of everything,

Yet pensive with the thought of eve?

Then the white house shall we leave,

Pass the wind-flowers and the bays,

Through the garth, and go our ways,

Wandering down among the meads

Till our very joyance needs

Rest at last; till we shall come

To

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