Midst bitten mead and acre shorn,
The world without is waste and worn,
But here within our orchard-close,
The guerdon of its labour shows.
O valiant Earth, O happy year
That mocks the threat of winter near,
And hangs aloft from tree to tree
The banners of the Spring to be.
More verses by William Morris
- The Woodpecker
- The Forest
- The Half Of Life Gone
- Of The Wooing Of Halbiorn The Strong
- The Day Of Days