Or dark dream—by my waking soul divined—
Of some uncertain sleep? in which the sin
Of some past life, a life that some one lived—
Not I, yet I,—long, long ago in Spain,
I live again.... Wherein again I see
From heathen battles to Toledo's gates,—
Damascened corselet broken, his camail
And armet shattered,—deep within the eve's
Anger of brass, that burned around his helm,
A hurrying flame,—a galloping glitter,—one