I DREAMT a dream on November Night Of the dear souls that wait in pain For the full Vision, the Delight, Beauty that shall not change nor wane. The grey country's to Heaven close, Not Heaven but almost Heaven's twin; As a grey rose to a gold rose, As a grey image faint and thin. In the grey land were bliss enough Did not the Vision shine and gleam, Turning the softest way to rough Until they might attain to Him. Mary walking in Heaven's bower Heard the sighing after her Son: Give me Thy Mercy for an hour, Thou who wert once my little one! Mary came with stars in her hair, The new moon was under her feet; In the grey world so still and fair The heart of the world began to beat. Some were clinging beside her skirt, Soul on soul like a flock of birds; Others nested, oh, past desert! On the heart that had seven swords. Mary gathers them one and all, Many a one late home from war, As they were children tender and small— Sweetly gathers them all to her. As a green tree in the birds' flight I saw Mary amid her flock, Carrying souls in her veil white, Hiding them warm in her blue cloak. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INVITATION by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 46 by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE SCHOLAR OF HIS OWN PUPIL; THIRD IDYLLIUM by BION LIFE'S CURTAIN by EMMA MAGIN BISSELL THE DOOMED OAK; IN IMITATION OF ANATOLE FRANCE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: FAREWELL DARK by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |