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 aloneAnd 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 ownFeature and form upon the Judgment-throne.'

Then my dream snapped: and with a heart that leaptI 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.