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A poem by William Morris |
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The Day Is Coming |
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Title: The Day Is Coming Author: William Morris [More Titles by Morris] Come hither, lads, and hearken, for a tale there is to tell, And the tale shall be told of a country, a land in the midst of the sea, There more than one in a thousand in the days that are yet to come For then--laugh not, but listen to this strange tale of mine - Then a man shall work and bethink him, and rejoice in the deeds of his Men in that time a-coming shall work and have no fear I tell you this for a wonder, that no man then shall be glad For that which the worker winneth shall then be his indeed, O strange new wonderful justice! But for whom shall we gather the gain? Then all Mine and all Thine shall be Ours, and no more shall any man And what wealth then shall be left us when none shall gather gold Nay, what save the lovely city, and the little house on the hill, And the homes of ancient stories, the tombs of the mighty dead; And the painter's hand of wonder; and the marvellous fiddle-bow, For all these shall be ours and all men's, nor shall any lack a share
Why, then, and for what are we waiting? There are three words to speak: O why and for what are we waiting? While our brothers droop and die, How long shall they reproach us where crowd on crowd they dwell, Through squalid life they laboured, in sordid grief they died, They are gone; there is none can undo it, nor save our souls from the It is we must answer and hasten, and open wide the door Yea, the voiceless wrath of the wretched, and their unlearned discontent, Come, then, since all things call us, the living and the dead,
Come, join in the only battle wherein no man can fail, Ah! come, cast off all fooling, for this, at least, we know: [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |