Dreams Trespassing

OF all the spectres feared and then forgot
That haunt us sleeping, this is dreadfullest—
Still to seek help and find it not
Through those dim lands that sleep and know not rest;
Followed for ever by a formless fear
That drawing near and nearer hungrily
Lowers against our dearest dear,
And nought can shield them from that jeopardy;
To see the unknown horror rearing slow,
Hang high above them like a craning wave,
And in that endless moment know
Intolerable impotence to save.
Yet 'whelmed the dream-doom never one dear head,
Our own hearts woke us with their passionate beat:
Straightway we found all peril fled
And lay, awaiting dawn's deliverance sweet.
· · · · · ·
Now growing with the strengthening daylight strong
Doth that ill dream, the sleep-world's confines breaking,
Walk at our elbow all day long
To leave us only at a worse awaking.

"What shall be done with all these tears of ours?"

THE poor proud mother in the sad old tale,
That wept her lovely children's loss in vain
Grew one with her own tears' most bitter rain;
The immortal Gods that spared not for her wail
Then made from out her grief's eternal flow
A never-failing fountain, at whose brink
Wayfaring men oft stooped them down to drink
And blessed those Gods, whose envy wrought her woe.
So may these bitter springs with years grow sweet,
And welling ever upward full and strong,
As when from many a broken heart they burst,
Stay not for frost nor fail for summer heat,
But make fair pools life's desert way along
Where unborn generations slake their thirst.

In Hereford Cathedral