Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, EARTHLY PARADISE, by WILLIAM MORRIS (1834-1896)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

EARTHLY PARADISE, by             Poem Explanation     Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Of heaven or hell I have no power to sing
Last Line: Whose ravening monsters mighty men shall slay, %not the poor singer of an empty day
Subject(s): Christmas


Part I:
In the springtime, when the primroses are sold
In the city square by merry gipsies tanned,
The young men and the maidens, grown a-long
From childhood, to the upward mountains fare
With joyful hearts; and there, where long ago
Demetrius the Master won his fame,
They tell his story by the mountain springs.
Now, to this fame that lived for many years
Something was joined, a story of his death.
For when his daughter, chained and sorrowful,
Heard of his murder by the heathen folk,
She knew no rest, but to the mountains went,
And there with bitter tears and many prayers
Sought from the gods her father's life again.
And as she cried and prayed, her tears fell down
Into the bosom of the kindly earth,
Who heard her prayer and pitied her distress,
And gave her back her father, once again
To live among them in the happy land.
And so they say that on a summer night,
When all the earth was sweet with new-mown hay,
The Master came from out the mountain cave,
And stood before them in his earthly shape,
And blessed them for their love and their good will,
And bade them make the city fair and strong,
And be a joy to him for evermore.
Part II:
Then rose a young man up, and to the rest
Spoke thus: "Dear friends, we seek a goodly thing;
To know the mystery of the Earthly Paradise.
To us, who dwell in this sweet land of ours,
This earth of ours is but a little thing,
And yet we know there is a land more fair,
More sweet than this, a land without a care,
Where all is good and true and pure and bright,
Where every day is full of new delight,
Where every night is full of happy dreams.
O friends, if such a land there really be,
Then let us go and seek it faithfully,
And find at last the Earthly Paradise."
Thus spoke the youth, and all the rest were moved
To hear his words; and straightway to their homes
They went, and made them ready for the quest.
And when the moon was full, and all the night
Was sweet with scent of flowers and soft with dew,
They met together at the city gate,
And passed out, one by one, into the dark.
The stars shone bright above them, and the air
Was full of the sweet scent of early spring,
As on they went, with hearts full of desire,
Till they had passed the confines of the land.
Then, in the grey of dawn, they saw a sea
Of mist before them, and they knew not which
Way to go, nor what was yet to come.
But as they stood, and pondered what to do,
They saw a strange old man before them stand,
Whose hair was white with many years, and long,
And in whose hand he held a staff of oak.
And thus he spoke: "O ye who seek the way
To Earthly Paradise, your task is hard,
But not impossible to them who dare.
For know, that though the way be long and steep,
And full of perils manifold and deep,
Yet if ye keep your hearts both pure and true,
Ye shall at last the Earthly Paradise find.
But first, ye must pass through the bitter sea,
The sea of life and death, that lies before
The land where all is joy and peace and rest.
And when ye come to the other side,
Ye shall find meadows green and still
Water of many a winding rill,
And men and women fair and wise,
And all the world a paradise;
Ye shall find garments and food
House and garden, bed and brood,
And still remember when ye see
Such things as these, how it might be.
Yet in the world that's come to pass
The former time is gone, alas!
Though for the new time ye may yearn,
Well shall ye find the new time stern.
Amid the oak leaves' woven bowers
Sharp are the thorns of the new world's flowers,
And the strong hours are stronger yet
That drive us on toward the worst we get.
Hearken, oh hearken then once more,
And tell me all ye went there for.
“Alas!” they say, “we went to see
The land of things that yet might be.”
Ah, fools and blind! Is this the land
Ye dreamed of, built with steadfast hand?
Is this the great hope ye were fain
Should lift you high o'er grief and pain?
Lo, here is grief that never dies,
And pain that harrows and occupies,
And error flying with wide wings
Between all fair and wretched things.
Why, what is this but earth indeed,
Whereon we stumble and proceed
In foolish blindness, till we die
And death itself wakes no reply?
Yet, friends, my words, ere we depart,
Though cold and vain they needs must be,
Yea, though they break your desolate heart,
And ye go forth uncomforted,
Hear them, for they concern you and me.
So here, mid these half-finished walls,
Amid this scene of broken halls,
We well may pray, if pray we can,
The time may change, and God make man.






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