Sunday, 1 May 2011

William Morris May Day poem 1892.


Are ye few? Are they many? What words have ye spoken

To bid your own brethren remember the Earth?

What deeds have ye done that the bonds should be broken,

And men dwell together in good-will and mirth?


They are few, we are many: and yet, O our Mother,

Many years were we wordless and nought was our deed,

But now the word flitteth from brother to brother:

We have furrowed the acres and scattered the seed.


Win on then unyielding, through fair and foul weather,

And pass not a day that your deed shall avail.

And in hope every spring-tide come gather together

That unto the Earth ye may tell all your tale.

Then this shall I promise, that I am abiding

The day of your triumph, the ending of gloom,

And no wealth that ye will then my hand shall be hiding

And the tears of the spring into roses shall bloom.

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