The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems
1858
In 1858, a young William Morris reimagined the Arthurian legends through the eyes of a woman history had judged. In "The Defence of Guenevere," the queen stands before her accusers, a court of knights demanding confession, and in a monologue of startling intensity, she neither begs nor denies. She remembers. She feels. She refuses to be anything less than fully human in a world that has reduced her to a symbol of betrayal. Morris writes with medieval lushness and Victorian sensuality, his verse simultaneously ancient and startlingly modern in its psychological honesty. These poems live in the space between desire and duty, between the woman and the icon. Guenevere's voice wavers between defiance and despair, passionate remembrance and sharp accusation, making her one of the most alive figures in Victorian poetry. The collection radiates the romantic longing and tragic beauty that would later define Morris's decorative arts movement. For readers who crave Tennyson's Idylls but wish the Grail queen had been allowed to speak for herself.
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“Is it better for a man to have chosen evil than to have good imposed upon him?””
— William Morris
“We can destroy what we have written, but we cannot unwrite it.””
— William Morris
“When a man cannot choose, he ceases to be a man.””
— William Morris
“The important thing is moral choice. Evil has to exist along with good, in order that moral choice may operate. Life is sustained by the grinding opposition of moral entities.””
— William Morris
“But what I do I do because I like to do.””
— William Morris
“Goodness is something chosen. When a man cannot choose he ceases to be a man.””
— William Morris
“It's funny how the colors of the real world only seem really real when you watch them on a screen.””
— William Morris
“I see what is right and approve, but I do what is wrong.””
— William Morris
“Oh it was gorgeousness and gorgeosity made flesh. The trombones crunched redgold under my bed, and behind my gulliver the trumpets three-wise silverflamed, and there by the door the timps rolling through my guts and out again crunched like candy thunder. Oh, it was wonder of wonders. And then, a bird of like rarest spun heavenmetal, or like silvery wine flowing in a spaceship, gravity all nonsense now, came the violin solo above all the other strings, and those strings were like a cage of silk round my bed. Then flute and oboe bored, like worms of like platinum, into the thick thick toffee gold and silver. I was in such bliss, my brothers.””
— William Morris
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Morris, William. The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems. Lex, lex-books.com/book/the-defence-of-guenevere-and-other-poems-4a7cc90d-73a0-45cf-82bc-d447ea671b4f.Morris, W. (1858). The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems. Lex. https://lex-books.com/book/the-defence-of-guenevere-and-other-poems-4a7cc90d-73a0-45cf-82bc-d447ea671b4fMorris, William. The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems. Lex. https://lex-books.com/book/the-defence-of-guenevere-and-other-poems-4a7cc90d-73a0-45cf-82bc-d447ea671b4f.


















