The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems

By William Morris

William Morris was a 19th century British novelist best known for helping pioneer the fantasy genre.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Krill Press
• Release date: Feb 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781518394683

William Morris

William Morris (1834-1896) was an accomplished writer, textile designer and artist. A utopian socialist, he was associated with the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and the English Arts and Craft Movement, and was a founding member of the Socialist League in Britain. Greatly influenced by the medieval period, Morris helped establish the modern fantasy genre though his works The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, A Dream of John Ball, and The Well at the World’s End. Authors like J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis were greatly influenced by works like The House of the Wolfings, The Roots of the Mountains, and The Wood Beyond the World. Morris was also an accomplished publisher, founding the Kelmscott Press in 1891, whose 1896 edition of the Works of Geoffrey Chaucer is considered a masterpiece of book design.

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Grimm.

THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE AND OTHER POEMS

..................

BY

Reprinted from the Kelmscott Press Edition

as revised by the Author

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.

39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON

NEW YORK, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA

1908

All rights reserved

Reprinted January 1908 New Edition corrected by Kelmscott Press Edition, May 1900, 1896 Transferred to Kelmscott Press Edition (revised by the Author), 1892 Subsequently for , and Reprinted, 1875, for , 1858First Edition,

THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE

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BUT, knowing now that they would have her speak,

She threw her wet hair backward from her brow,

Her hand close to her mouth touching her cheek,

KING ARTHUR’S TOMB: KING ARTHUR’S TOMB

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HOT August noon: already on that day

Since sunrise through the Wiltshire downs, most sad

Of mouth and eye, he had gone leagues of way;

Ay and by night, till whether good or bad

Launcelot, on awaking.

‘I stretch’d my hands towards her and fell down,

How long I lay in swoon I cannot tell:

My head and hands were bleeding from the stone,

When I rose up, also I heard a bell.’

SIR GALAHAD, A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY: SIR GALAHAD, A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY

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IT is the longest night in all the year,

Near on the day when the Lord Christ was born;

Six hours ago I came and sat down here,

And ponder’d sadly, wearied and forlorn.

Enter Two Angels in white, with scarlet wings; also, Four Ladies in gowns of red and green; also an Angel, bearing in his hands a surcoat of white, with a red cross.

An Angel

O servant of the high God, Galahad!

Rise and be arm’d: the Sangreal is gone forth

Through the great forest, and you must be had

Unto the sea that lieth on the north:

First Lady, putting on the hauberk.

Galahad,

That I may stand so close beneath your brow,

I, Margaret of Antioch, am glad.

Second Lady, girding him with the sword.

That I may stand and touch you with my hand,

O Galahad, I, Cecily, am glad.

Third Lady, buckling on the spurs.

That I may kneel while up above you stand,

And gaze at me, O holy Galahad,

Fourth Lady, putting on the basnet.

O gentle knight,

That you bow down to us in reverence,

We are most glad, I, Katherine, with delight

Must needs fall trembling.

Angel, putting on the crossed surcoat.

Galahad, we go hence,

Galahad.

How still and quiet everything seems now:

They come, too, for I hear the horsehoofs fall.

Enter Sir Bors, Sir Percival, and his Sister.

Fair friends and gentle lady, God you save!

A many marvels have been here to-night;

Tell me what news of Launcelot you have,

And has God’s body ever been in sight?

Sir Bors.

Why,