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Poem by William Morris


The Orchard


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. 



William Morris


William Morris's other poems:
  1. The Son's Sorrow
  2. The Burgher's Battle
  3. The King Of Denmark's Sons
  4. Another For The Briar-Rose
  5. From the Upland to the Sea


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