The Abbey and the Palace: Standing away from the cornfields

This and nos. 4-9, 13, 14, and 16-18 below are all written in a large, loose, symmetrical script, quite different from that used by the copyist of "The Mosque Rising in the Place of the Temple of Solomon" (formerly known as "The Dedication of the Temple"), a poem which May Morris received in the same batch of poems from her niece Effie Morris in 1921, and which she describes as written out "for or by" her aunt. May Morris apparently hesitated to identify her aunt's handwriting, but at least did not assume that the very different "Fame" script was hers. The uncertainty is resolved, however, by the one surviving Emma Morris letter (to her niece Jenny, 1887, William Morris Gallery MS J77), written in the script of "The Mosque Rising" copyist. Emma was not the copyist for "Fame" or the other poems in the same handwriting which were found in her drawer; other possibilities include Henrietta Morris or Morris himself. Morris's handwriting varied widely; although the handwriting of "Fame" is less compressed than that of the Fitzwilliam early script, the capital letters are similarly formed. May Morris often mentioned whether drafts were in her father's hand, but here said nothing. See also the note on 10.

B. L. Add. MS. 45,298A, ff. 41-43v

Night lay upon the city[,]
       Dull clouds upon the night
O! London without pity!
       O! ghastly flaring light.

It fell on many faces
       In groups about the doors,
It fell on some, with traces
       Of the dreary church-yard floors[.]

[f. 41v] It fell on faces, bloated
       With many hideous crimes,
On some, whose thoughts had floated
       Away to long past times.

It fell on hungry faces[,]
       Thin lips, despairing frown,
Truly a dismal place is
       That grim, gold-paved town.

From light, to light, went flitting
       One very dreary face,
Through the people all unwitting
       It passed on apace:

It was a woman walking
       Adown the London street,
She paced on never talking
       To any she did meet[.]

She walked on fast and faster
       Amid the drizzling rain,
And few there were that passed her
       Or they fell behind again.

She walked on nothing heeding
       Sights, sounds about her cast;
Like a ghost, breath for red blood bleeding
       When his spirit life is past.

Her eyes they looked so fearful,
       Her wild, far-looking eyes
They had long ago left being tearful,
       No tear within them lies.

[f. 42] Her teeth were clenched together,
       Her lips a little apart;
As she went in the doleful weather
       Her breath did tear her heart.

Her dress was torn and ragged,
       `Twas silken ne’ertheless;
Her hair all wild and jagged
       Did a broidered kerchief press.

On one of her closed fingers,
       As her arms swing by her side,
A golden ring yet lingers
       She strives the ring to  hide.

Between closed teeth she mutters,
       `When will the trees be here?'
Strange little sounds she utters
       Which die off in the air.

She says, and walks on faster
       With terror in her eye:
"Ah! yesterday I passed here[,]
       They would not let me by:

"The fearful, dusky houses
       They hemmed me in alway,
The angry, terrible houses
       They met me yesterday[.]

"They would not hear my singing
       They turned me away,
Curses upon me flinging;
       O! horrible yesterday!

[f. 42v] "They told me that the flowers
       Were bright, so bright beyond,
That in the west wind, cowers
       The broad sedge by the pond.

"That sedge-flowers there are yellow,
       The long weeds purple and green,
The swallow, seeking his fellow,
       About the pond is seen.

"And yet, the terrible houses,
       They would not let me by[,]
The dusky, terrible houses!
       Above, the smoke does fly."

She walked, till the streets grew thinner
       While night went on and on,
Till fields began to win her,
       She scarce could hold her song.

When the houses ceased, their weeping
       The clouds left off also,
Grey light was about her creeping,
       She had forgot her woe.

She walks on, dreaming, dreaming,
       She sometimes turns, to feel
The soft air round her streaming,
       O! softly it does steal.

About her hair that was golden
       That is roughed and jagged now[,]
About her eyes, blue, in the olden
       Days so long ago.

[f. 43] She thinks not of the hours
       The weary hours of woe
But looking at the flowers
       She thinks it long ago.

There is an old, old garden,
       She cometh to it soon;
An old, old house is its warden
       In the sun and in the moon.

And many, many, lilies
       Do in the garden grow,
Red poppies, and white lilies,
       And lime-trees in a row.

And the house stands very quaintly
       With roses up its walls,
And the smell of the limes comes faintly
       And falls, when the light wind falls.

And a lawn from the garden lyeth,
       Soft moss its grass doth hide,
In a calm blue river it dyeth,
       With woods on the other side.

There all alone she sitteth
       The while the sky grows red[,]
The while the great moth flitteth,
       The lark sings over-head.

She singeth and her singing
       Is a mournful thing to hear,
The rising sun is bringing
       Lost love, and death anear.

[f. 43v] The light shows through the windows
       The roses hang across
O! the long deserted windows!
       Red roses hang across.

Between the lilies and the limes
       The woman lay a-dying[,]
Her head laid back as in old times
       Among the flowers lying.

I think the leaves will bury her[,]
The snowy lilies look on her[,]
       They look as if they love her[,]
The bee will look as he goes by[,]
The sun will look when he is high[;]
       No sound will ever move her--

Pub. AWS, I, 525-29.

Night lay upon the city
Dull clouds upon the night
O! London without pity!
O! ghastly flaring light!

It fell on many faces
In groups about the door,
It fell on some, with traces
Of the dreary churchyard floors.

It fell on faces, bloated
With many hideous crimes,
On some, whose thoughts had floated
Away to long past times.

It fell on hungry faces
Thin lips, despairing frown,
Truly a dismal place is
That grim, gold-paved town.

From light to light went flitting
One very dreary face,
Through the people all unwitting
It passed on apace.

It was a woman walking
Adown the London street,
She paced on never talking
To any she did meet.

She walked on fast and faster
Amid the drizzling rain
And few there were that passed her
Or they fell behind again.

[526] She walked on nothing heeding
Sights, sounds about her cast,
Like a ghost, breath for red blood bleeding
When his spirit life is past.

Her eyes they looked so fearful,
Her wild far-looking eyes
They had long ago left being tearful
No tear within them lies.

Her teeth were clenched together,
Her lips a little apart;
As she went in the doleful weather
Her breath did tear her heart.

Her dress was torn and ragged,
`Twas silken ne’ertheless;
Her hair all wild and jagged
Did a broidered kerchief press.

On one of her closed fingers
As her arms swing by her side,
A golden ring yet lingers
She strives the ring to  hide.

Between closed teeth she mutters,
"When will the trees be here?"
Strange little sounds she utters
Which die off in the air.

She says, and walks on faster
With terror in her eye:
"Ah! Yesterday I passed here
They would not let me by:

"The fearful, dusky houses
They hemmed me in alway,
The angry, terrible houses
They met me yesterday.

[527] "They would not hear my singing
They turned me away,
Curses upon me flinging;
O! horrible yesterday!

"They told me that the flowers
Were bright, so bright beyond,
That in the west wind cowers
The broad sedge by the pond,

"The sedge-flowers there are yellow,
The long weeds purple and green,
The swallow, seeking his fellow,
About the pond is seen.

"And yet, the terrible houses,
They would not let me by
The dusky, terrible houses!
Above, the smoke does fly."

She walked, till the streets grew thinner
While night went on and on,
Till fields began to win her,
She scarce could hold her song.

When the houses ceased, their weeping
The clouds left off also,
Grey light was about her creeping,
She had forgot her woe.

She walks on, dreaming, dreaming,
She sometimes turns, to feel
The soft air round her streaming,
O! softly it does steal

About her hair that was golden
That is roughed and jagged now
About her eyes, blue in the olden
Days so long ago.

[528] She thinks not of the hours
The weary hours of woe
But looking at the flowers
She thinks it long ago.

There is an old, old garden,
She cometh to it soon;
An old, old house is its warden
In the sun and in the moon.

And many, many lilies
Do in the garden grow,
Red poppies, and white lilies
And lime-trees in a row.

And the house stands very quaintly
With roses up its walls,
And the smell of the limes come faintly
And falls, when the light wind falls.

And a lawn from the garden lyeth,
Soft moss its grass doth hide,
In a calm blue river it dyeth,
With woods on the other side.

There all alone she sitteth
The while the sky grows red,
The while the great moth flitteth,
The lark sings over-head.

She singeth and her singing
Is a mournful thing to hear,
The rising sun is bringing
Lost love, and death anear.

The light shows through the windows
The roses hang across
O! the long deserted windows!
Red roses hang across.

[529] Between the lilies and the limes
The woman lay a-dying
Her head laid back as in old times
Among the flowers lying.

I think the leaves will bury her,
The snowy lilies look on her,
They look as if they love her,
The bee will look as he goes by,
The sun will look when he is high;
No sound will ever move her