THE MIRROR OF MADMEN

I dreamed a dream of heaven, white as frost,

The splendid stillness of a living host;

Vast choirs of upturned faces, line o'er line.

Then my blood froze; for every face was mine.

Spirits with sunset plumage throng and pass,

Glassed darkly in the sea of gold and glass.

But still on every side, in every spot,

I saw a million selves, who saw me not.

I fled to quiet wastes, where on a stone,

Perchance, I found a saint, who sat alone;

I came behind: he turned with slow, sweet grace,

And faced me with my happy, hateful face.

I cowered like one that in a tower doth bide,

Shut in by mirrors upon every side;

Then I saw, islanded in skies alone

And silent, one that sat upon a throne.

His robe was bordered with rich rose and gold,

Green, purple, silver out of sunsets old;

But o'er his face a great cloud edged with fire,

Because it covereth the world's desire.

But as I gazed, a silent worshipper,

Methought the cloud began to faintly stir;

Then I fell flat, and screamed with grovelling head,

‘ If thou hast any lightning, strike me dead!

‘ But spare a brow where the clean sunlight fell,

The crown of a new sin that sickens hell.

Let me not look aloft and see mine own

Feature and form upon the Judgment-throne.’

Then my dream snapped: and with a heart that leapt

I saw across the tavern where I slept,

The sight of all my life most full of grace,

A gin-damned drunkard's wan half-witted face.