The Mirror Of Madmen

I dreamed a dream of heaven, white as frost,     The splendid stillness of a living host;     Vast choirs of upturned faces, line o'er line.     Then my blood froze; for every face was mine.     Spirits with sunset plumage throng and pass,     Glassed darkly in the sea of gold and glass.     But still on every side, in every spot,     I saw a million selves, who saw me not.     I fled to quiet wastes, where on a stone,     Perchance, I found a saint, who sat alone;     I came behind: he turned with slow, sweet grace,     And faced me with my happy, hateful face.     I cowered like one that in a tower doth bide,     Shut in by mirrors upon every side;     Then I saw, islanded in skies alone     And silent, one that sat upon a throne.     His robe was bordered with rich rose and gold,     Green, purple, silver out of sunsets old;     But o'er his face a great cloud edged with fire,     Because it covereth the world's desire.     But as I gazed, a silent worshipper,     Methought the cloud began to faintly stir;     Then I fell flat, and screamed with grovelling head,     'If thou hast any lightning, strike me dead!     'But spare a brow where the clean sunlight fell,     The crown of a new sin that sickens hell.     Let me not look aloft and see mine own     Feature and form upon the Judgment-throne.'     Then my dream snapped: and with a heart that leapt     I saw across the tavern where I slept,     The sight of all my life most full of grace,     A gin-damned drunkard's wan half-witted face.