Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke
William Morris (18341896)Extracts from Poems by the Way: Thunder in the Garden
W
And the blackbird reneweth his song,
And the thunder departing yet rolleth again,
I remember the ending of wrong.
Is ending wide-gleaming and strange
For the clearness of all things beneath the world’s roof
I call back the wild chance and the change.
While the rain held aloof for a while,
Till she, the soft-clad, for the glory of June
Changed all with the change of her smile.
And her fingers, entwined with mine own,
With caresses unquiet sought kindness of me
For the gift that I never had known.
Smote dumb all the sound of the street,
And I to myself was grown nought but a wonder,
As she leaned down my kisses to meet.
And the hand that had trembled to touch,
That the tears filled her eyes I had hoped not to soften
In this world was a marvel too much.
When first brake out our love like the storm,
But no night-hour was it, and back came the light
While our hands with each other were warm.
As she rose up and led me along,
And out to the garden, where nought was athirst,
And the blackbird renewing his song.
Her feet little hidden were set;
She bent down her head, ’neath the roses to pass,
And her arm with the lily was wet.
And the thunder was dying aloof;
Till the moon o’er the minster-wall lifted his face,
And grey gleamed out the lead of the roof.
In the trees the wind westering moved;
Till over the threshold back fluttered her gown,
And in the dark house was I loved.