My Dream

Hear now a curious dream I dreamed last nightEach word whereof is weighed and sifted truth.

I stood beside Euphrates while it swelledLike overflowing Jordan in its youth:It waxed and coloured sensibly to sight;Till out of myriad pregnant waves there welledYoung crocodiles, a gaunt blunt-featured crew,Fresh-hatched perhaps and daubed with birthday dew.The rest if I should tell, I fear my friendMy closest friend would deem the facts untrue;And therefore it were wisely left untold;Yet if you will, why, hear it to the end.

Each crocodile was girt with massive goldAnd polished stones that with their wearers grew:But one there was who waxed beyond the rest,Wore kinglier girdle and a kingly crown,Whilst crowns and orbs and sceptres starred his breast.All gleamed compact and green with scale on scale,But special burnishment adorned his mailAnd special terror weighed upon his frown;His punier brethren quaked before his tail,Broad as a rafter, potent as a flail.So he grew lord and master of his kin:But who shall tell the tale of all their woes?An execrable appetite arose,He battened on them, crunched, and sucked them in.He knew no law, he feared no binding law,But ground them with inexorable jaw:The luscious fat distilled upon his chin,Exuded from his nostrils and his eyes,While still like hungry death he fed his maw;Till every minor crocodile being deadAnd buried too, himself gorged to the full,He slept with breath oppressed and unstrung claw.Oh marvel passing strange which next I saw:In sleep he dwindled to the common size,And all the empire faded from his coat.Then from far off a winged vessel came,Swift as a swallow, subtle as a flame:I know not what it bore of freight or host,But white it was as an avenging ghost.It levelled strong Euphrates in its course;Supreme yet weightless as an idle moteIt seemed to tame the waters without forceTill not a murmur swelled or billow beat:Lo, as the purple shadow swept the sands,The prudent crocodile rose on his feetAnd shed appropriate tears and wrung his hands.

What can it mean? you ask. I answer notFor meaning, but myself must echo, What?And tell it as I saw it on the spot.

Oh roses for the flush of youth,And laurel for the perfect prime;But pluck an ivy branch for meGrown old before my time.

Oh violets for the grave of youth,And bay for those dead in their prime;Give me the withered leaves I choseBefore in the old time.

O love, love, hold me fast,He draws me away from thee;I cannot stem the blast,Nor the cold strong sea:Far away a light shinesBeyond the hills and pines;It is lit for me.

Come with me, fair and false,To our home, come home.It is my voice that calls:Once thou wast not afraidWhen I woo'd, and said,'Come, our nest is newly made'--Now cross the tossing foam.

Hold me one moment longer,He taunts me with the past,His clutch is waxing stronger,Hold me fast, hold me fast.He draws me from thy heart,And I cannot withhold:He bids my spirit departWith him into the cold:--Oh bitter vows of old!

Lean on me, come away,I will guide and steady:Come, for I will not stay:Come, for house and bed are ready.Ah, sure bed and house,For better and worse, for life and death:Goal won with shortened breath:Come, crown our vows.

One moment, one more word,While my heart beats still,While my breath is stirredBy my fainting will.O friend forsake me not,Forget not as I forgot:But keep thy heart for me,Keep thy faith true and bright;Through the lone cold winter nightPerhaps I may come to thee.

O fair frail sin,O poor harvest gathered in!Thou shalt visit him againTo watch his heart grow cold;To know the gnawing painI knew of old;To see one much more fairFill up the vacant chair,Fill his heart, his children bear:--While thou and I togetherIn the outcast weatherToss and howl and spin.