THE SLEEP-WORKER

When wilt thou wake, O Mother, wake and see -

As one who, held in trance, has laboured long

By vacant rote and prepossession strong -

The coils that thou hast wrought unwittingly;

Wherein have place, unrealized by thee,

Fair growths, foul cankers, right enmeshed with wrong,

Strange orchestras of victim-shriek and song,

And curious blends of ache and ecstasy? -

Should that morn come, and show thy opened eyes

All that Life's palpitating tissues feel,

How wilt thou bear thyself in thy surprise? -

Wilt thou destroy, in one wild shock of shame,

Thy whole high heaving firmamental frame,

Or patiently adjust, amend, and heal?