Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/264

 They bound my blood-stain'd hands together,

They bound his corpse to nod by my side:

Then on we rode, in the bright March weather,

With clash of cymbals did we ride.

We ride no more, no more together;

My prison-bars are thick and strong,

I take no heed of any weather,

The sweet Saints grant I live not long.