Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/108

 Likewise my feet are wearied of the earth,

From whence I shall be lifted upright soon.

Ah me! shamed too, I wept at fear of death;

And yet not so, I only wept because

There was no beautiful lady to kiss me

Before I died, and sweetly wish good speed

From her dear lips. O for some lady, though

I saw her ne'er before; Alice, my love,

I do not ask for; Clisson was right kind,

If he had been a woman, I should die

Without this sickness: but I am all wrong,

So wrong and hopelessly afraid to die.

There, I will go.

If only she could come and kiss me now.

The Hotel de la Barde, Bordeaux

The, looking out of a window into the street

No news yet! surely, still he holds his own;

That garde stands well; I mind me passing it

Some months ago; God grant the walls are strong!

I heard some knights say something yestereve,

I tried hard to forget: words far apart

Struck on my heart; something like this; one said,

"What eh! a Gascon with an English name,

Harpdon?" then nought, but afterwards, "Poictou."

As one who answers to a question ask'd;

Then carelessly regretful came, "No, no."

Whereto in answer loud and eagerly,

One said, "Impossible? Christ, what foul play!"