Poems By The Way & Love Is Enough by William MorrisWilliam Morris was an English architect, furniture and textile designer, artist, writer, socialist and Marxist associated with the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and the English Arts and Crafts Movement. Morris wrote and published poetry, fiction, and translations of ancient and medieval texts throughout his life. His best-known works include The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems (1858), The Earthly Paradise (1868–1870), A Dream of John Ball and the utopian News from Nowhere. He was an important figure in the emergence of socialism in Britain, founding the Socialist League in 1884, but breaking with the movement over goals and methods by the end of that decade. He devoted much of the rest of his life to the Kelmscott Press, which he founded in 1891. The 1896 Kelmscott edition of the Works of Geoffrey Chaucer is considered a masterpiece of book design.
William Morris Exhumed
Poems by the Way
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William Morris was famous in his lifetime as a poet and author of literary works. He began writing as a student at Oxford University and published throughout his life. His output encompassed several genres and styles, including narrative poetry, novels, essays, and short stories. When describing himself, Morris would proclaim, "I am a literary man and an artist of a kind. I work both with my head and my hands. In his literature, Morris incorporated elements of classical poetry and the vernacular romances of the Middle Ages.
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.
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Make pictures through the mist of tears, Of unforgotten happy fears, That crossed the time ere hope was dead. Draw near the place where once we stood Amid delight's swift-rushing flood, And we and all the world seemed good Nor needed hope now cold and dead. Dream in the dawn I come to thee Weeping for things that may not be! Dream that thou layest lips on me! Wake, wake to clasp hope's body dead! Count o'er and o'er, and one by one The minutes of the happy sun That while agone on kissed lips shone, Count on, rest not, for hope is dead.