William Morris

Today is the anniversary of the death in 1896 of William Morris, artist and author. His art is still used and appreciated in the decorative arts, and I've seen several postcard books and coffee table books of his designs. There is a William Morris Gallery, which offers access to many of his designs now in the public domain. There's a virtual tour here. ArtCyclopedia has links to his works online as does ArtPassions.

I know him best from his fantasy novels. I have read The Wood Behind the World, which can be read here, among other places, and The Well at the World's End, which is available online here, here and here.

Morris was influential in the fantasy writings of J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. VictorianWeb has a lot of information on his life and works. There is a short biography here.

2 of his poems:

Love is Enough

Love is enough: though the world be a-waning,
And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,
Though the skies be too dark for dim eyes to discover
The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder,
Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder,
And this day draw a veil over all deeds passed over,
Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter:
The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter
These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.

October

O love, turn from the changing sea and gaze,
Down these grey slopes, upon the year grown old,
A-dying 'mid the autumn-scented haze
That hangeth o'er the hollow in the wold,
Where the wind-bitten ancient elms infold
Grey church, long barn, orchard, and red-roofed stead,
Wrought in dead days for men a long while dead.

Come down, O love; may not our hands still meet,
Since still we live today, forgetting June,
Forgetting May, deeming October sweet? -
- Oh, hearken! hearken! through the afternoon
The grey tower sings a strange old tinkling tune!
Sweet, sweet, and sad, the toiling year's last breath,
To satiate of life, to strive with death.

And we too -will it not be soft and kind,
That rest from life, from patience, and from pain,
That rest from bliss we know not when we find,
That rest from love which ne'er the end can gain?
- Hark! how the tune swells, that erewhile did wane!
Look up, love! -Ah! cling close, and never move!
How can I have enough of life and love?