Jephthah and Other Mysteries

138 MYSTERIES: DREAMS. HAT words are these that shudder through my sleep, Changing from silver into crimson flakes, And molten into gold Like the pale opal through whose gray may sweep A scarlet flame, like eyes of crested snakes, Keen, furious, and too cold. What words are these? The pall of slumber lifts ; The veil of finiteness withdraws, The night Is heavier, life burns low: Yet to the quivering brain three goodly gifts The cruelty of Pluto and his might In the abyss bestow: Change, foresight, fear. The pageant whirls and boils, Restricted not by space and time, my dream Foresees the doom of Fate ; My spirit wrestles in the Dream-King’s toils Always in vain, and Hope’s forerunners gleam Alway one step too late.