Four sons doth seek adventure, striking forth from the land of Upmeads. The story, however, doth rest upon the youngest. ‘Tis named Ralph, a knight of chivalric beauty, who, escaping his country, quests for The Well At The World’s End. Upon his way, however, many adventures take place. Love doth he find, before it is untimely and ultimately quenched; thralldom doth he find, before his chains are broken; and life eternal doth he find, before he returneth to war. The Well At The World’s End by William Morris is a tale told overly well in a language that harkens Mallory. ‘Tis a tale of adventure and chivalry in a setting medieval, a yarn of wonder and imagination.
Yet, if the language of mine summary doth not easily read for thee, then thou hast better shy from Morris’ ever enduring narrative. If, however, thou is wont to pine away for both wit and majesty, then no farther shalt thou quest. The Well At The World’s End ‘tis a singing narrative upon which thy classics—however idiosyncratic thou defines that indelible term—can stand, those great stories of yore that speak to our collective soul, within which thou findest the subtle exploration of life eternal—and thereby death, with whom we wilt ultimately be reconciled.
Yet, stave thy despair! Be not afraid! Though thy dark night cometh, if thou be brave and true, thou might uncover thine own Well At The World’s End and drink that ever eternal nectar. Mayhaps thine well is love? Or children? Or vocation? Who canst tell! And doth it matter? Thy journey is of most importance, though a rightly held aim is recommended. For how else doth thee find verity? This advice, alone, I impart: Read Morris; enjoy thy trip; beware of mountains.