Hugh dreamed of gnawing at the bloody feast.
Along about the blanching of the east,
When sleep is weirdest and a moment’s flight,
Remembered coextensive with the night,
May teem with hapful years; as light in smoke,
Upon the jumble of Hugh’s dreaming broke
A buzz of human voices. Once again
He rode the westward trail with Henry’s men—
Hoof-smitten leagues consuming in a dust.
And now the nightmare of that broken trust