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411 The Shameful Dream There are four tapers at my side, The wicks wink dull and red, Four saints upon the walls abide. The cross hangs by my bed; And though my pillow is not wide It holds another head. Four crosses turn upon the vane That whines above the roof, All hours the wagging winds complain To put them to the proof. But neither cross nor saints restrain Nor keep my dream aloof. It does not come by day, Nor yet by candle light, Nor when the woods are grey And skies are morning bright, But when no stars array The shut, dead hours of night. I know the face it wears My days would shun to meet; I know what name it bears, What shames must dog its feet; But through my sleep it fares Most dear, and aching sweet. When dark doth like a mist The dank, wild fens out-creep, It hales me to the tryst I am right glad to keep, 412 When I my dream have kissed In deep, blind lanes of sleep. I am come to the prime of years And have both praise and fee, Upon my face no scar of tears Is there for men to see, And no man else but God who rears The hand of scorn at me. But between my dream and morn Before the night murk breaks, When the day star is not born And yet no bird awakes, Before that hand of scorn My spirit sits and quakes. It is not for the evil blow But the blow that I let be, And the work my hand let go When the sword was out and free, For the strength my arm should owe My dream has stol’n from me. I am two score years and ten And am both peer and knight, But I dare not think of the moment when Great Christ shall make it light, And with me stand before all men The dream I dreamed at night. Editor’s Notes AU 523; clean manuscript, dated 1896. ...

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