For The Briar-Rose
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William Morris
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The Briarwood.
The fateful slumber floats and flows
About the tangle of the rose;
But lo! the fated hand and heart
To rend the slumberous curse apart!
The Council Room.
The threat of war, the hope of peace,
The Kingdom’s peril and increase
Sleep on, and bide the latter day,
When fate shall take her chain away.
The Garden Court.
The maiden pleasance of the land
Knoweth no stir of voice or hand,
No cup the sleeping waters fill,
The restless shuttle lieth still.
The Rosebower.
Here lies the hoarded love, the key
To all the treasure that shall be;
Come fated hand the gift to take,
And smite this sleeping world awake.
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