IN SLEEP

I dreamt ( no “dream” awake — a dream indeed )

A wrathful man was talking in the park:

“Where are the Higher Powers, who know our need

And leave us in the dark?

“There are no Higher Powers; there is no heart

In God, no love”— his oratory here,

Taking the paupers’ and the cripples’ part,

Was broken by a tear.

And then it seemed that One who did create

Compassion, who alone invented pity,

Walked, as though called, in at that north-east gate,

Out from the muttering city;

Threaded the little crowd, trod the brown grass,

Bent o’ er the speaker close, saw the tear rise,

And saw Himself, as one looks in a glass,

In those impassioned eyes.