Уильям Моррис - The Pilgrims of Hope

As we dwelt together and pondered on the days that come not again.

Days passed and we dwelt together; nor Arthur came for awhile;

Gravely it was and sadly, and with no greeting smile,

That we twain met at our meetings: but no growth of hate was yet,

Though my heart at first would be sinking as our thoughts and our eyes they met:

And when he spake amidst us and as one we two agreed,

And I knew of his faith and his wisdom, then sore was my heart indeed.

We shrank from meeting alone: for the words we had to say

Our thoughts would nowise fashion-not yet for many a day.

Unhappy days of all days! Yet O might they come again!

So sore as my longing returneth to their trouble and sorrow and pain!

But time passed, and once we were sitting, my wife and I in our room,

And it was in the London twilight and the February gloom,

When there came a knock, and he entered all pale, though bright were his eyes,

And I knew that something had happened, and my heart to my mouth did arise.

"It is over," he said "-and beginning; for Paris has fallen at last,

And who knows what next shall happen after all that has happened and passed?

There now may we all be wanted."

I took up the word: "Well then

Let us go, we three together, and there to die like men."

"Nay," he said, "to live and be happy like men." Then he flushed up red,

And she no less as she hearkened, as one thought through their bodies had sped.

Then I reached out my hand unto him, and I kissed her once on the brow,

But no word craving forgiveness, and no word of pardon e'en now,

Our minds for our mouths might fashion.

In the February gloom

And into the dark we sat planning, and there was I in the room,

And in speech I gave and I took; but yet alone and apart

In the fields where I once was a youngling whiles wandered the thoughts of my heart,

And whiles in the unseen Paris, and the streets made ready for war.

Night grew and we lit the candles, and we drew together more,

And whiles we differed a little as we settled what to do,

And my soul was cleared of confusion as nigher the deed-time drew.

Well, I took my child into the country, as we had settled there,

And gave him o'er to be cherished by a kindly woman's care,

A friend of my mother's, but younger: and for Arthur, I let him give

His money, as mine was but little, that the boy might flourish and live,

Lest we three, or I and Arthur, should perish in tumult and war,

And at least the face of his father he should look on never more.

You cry out shame on my honour? But yet remember again

That a man in my boy was growing; must my passing pride and pain

Undo the manhood within him and his days and their doings blight?

So I thrust my pride away, and I did what I deemed was right,

And left him down in our country.

And well may you think indeed

How my sad heart swelled at departing from the peace of river and mead,

But I held all sternly aback and again to the town did I pass.

And as alone I journeyed, this was ever in my heart:

"They may die; they may live and be happy; but for me I know my part,

In Paris to do my utmost, and there in Paris to die!"

And I said, "The day of the deeds and the day of deliverance is nigh."

It was strange indeed, that journey! Never yet had I crossed the sea

Or looked on another people than the folk that had fostered me,

And my heart rose up and fluttered as in the misty night

We came on the fleet of the fishers slow rolling in the light

Of the hidden moon, as the sea dim under the false dawn lay;

And so like shadows of ships through the night they faded away,

And Calais pier was upon us. Dreamlike it was indeed

As we sat in the train together, and toward the end made speed.

But a dull sleep came upon me, and through the sleep a dream

Of the Frenchman who once was my master by the side of the willowy stream;

And he talked and told me tales of the war unwaged as yet,

And the victory never won, and bade me never forget,

While I walked on, still unhappy, by the home of the dark-striped perch.

Till at last, with a flash of light and a rattle and side-long lurch,

I woke up dazed and witless, till my sorrow awoke again,

And the grey of the morn was upon us as we sped through the poplar plain,

By the brimming streams and the houses with their grey roofs warped and bent,

And the horseless plough in the furrow, and things fair and innocent.

And there sat my wife before me, and she, too, dreamed as she slept;

For the slow tears fell from her eyelids as in her sleep she wept.

But Arthur sat by my side and waked; and flushed was his face,

And his eyes were quick to behold the picture of each fair place

That we flashed by as on we hurried; and I knew that the joy of life

Was strongly stirred within him by the thought of the coming strife.

Then I too thought for a little, It is good in grief's despite,

It is good to see earth's pictures, and so live in the day and the light.

Yea, we deemed that to death we were hastening, and it made our vision clear,

And we knew the delight of our life-days, and held their sorrow dear.

But now when we came unto Paris and were out in the sun and the street,

It was strange to see the faces that our wondering eyes did meet;

Such joy and peace and pleasure! That folk were glad we knew,

But knew not the why and the wherefore; and we who had just come through

The vanquished land and down-cast, and there at St. Denis e'en now

Had seen the German soldiers, and heard their bugles blow,

And the drum and fife go rattling through the freshness of the morn -

Yet here we beheld all joyous the folk they had made forlorn!

So at last from a grey stone building we saw a great flag fly,

One colour, red and solemn 'gainst the blue of the spring-tide sky,

And we stopped and turned to each other, and as each at each did we gaze,

The city's hope enwrapped us with joy and great amaze.

As folk in a dream we washed and we ate, and in all detail,

Oft told and in many a fashion, did we have all yesterday's tale:

How while we were threading our tangle of trouble in London there,

And I for my part, let me say it, within but a step of despair,

In Paris the day of days had betid; for the vile dwarf's stroke,

To madden Paris and crush her, had been struck and the dull sword broke;

There was now no foe and no fool in the city, and Paris was free;

And e'en as she is this morning, to-morrow all France will be.

We heard, and our hearts were saying, "In a little while all the earth-"

And that day at last of all days I knew what life was worth;

For I saw what few have beheld, a folk with all hearts gay.

Then at last I knew indeed that our word of the coming day,

That so oft in grief and in sorrow I had preached, and scarcely knew

If it was but despair of the present or the hope of the day that was due

-

I say that I saw it now, real, solid and at hand.

And strange how my heart went back to our little nook of the land,

And how plain and clear I saw it, as though I longed indeed

To give it a share of the joy and the satisfaction of need

That here in the folk I beheld. For this in our country spring

Did the starlings bechatter the gables, and the thrush in the thorn-bush sing,

And the green cloud spread o'er the willows, and the little children rejoice

And shout midst a nameless longing to the morning's mingled voice;

For this was the promise of spring-tide, and the new leaves longing to burst,