William Morris Against Quotations

Masters, I have to tell a tale of woe, A tale of folly and of wasted life, Hope against hope, the bitter dregs of strife, Ending, where all things end, in death at last.

Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time, / Why should I strive to set the crooked straight? / Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme / Beats with light wing against the ivory gate, / Telling a tale not too importunate.