His sleep is great unrest or greater grief,
With fearsome dreams and other such mischief.
Even thus I now feel sorrow’s smart.
Who will the meaning to me impart
Of this my dream wherein I lay?
Meseemed from hell-pit I did start
And heavenwards was borne away.
There many white doves I met in the way,
The which my bonds struck with their wings.
O merciful God, what see I? Stay!