Classic Poem

Last night I had a troublous dream
De Vere I dreamt with pain of thee;
Methought the well-remembered stream
Of thy loved voice went rapidly
Beside me ever ever flowing,
But now not ‘placid in its going’,
No longer calm and clear and bright,
Suffused with Heav'n's serenest light:
The very sparkles and foamy spray,
The current flings up in its merriest play,
Pure as the still and silent snow,
That lies upon the mountain side;
By little rainbows glorified
Which stay while on the waters flow!—
Now all was changed—thy voice and look
Were such as I could scarcely brook.
'Twas thou and yet it was not thou,—
I gazed in fear and growing pain;
Thought's temple still was there—thy brow—
Thy gleaming eye, and yet 'twas plain,
That thou and Reason now were twain.

I ask not what this dream portends:
But wherefore was the vision sent?
For well I wot that Morpheus sends
Such dreams for our admonishment,
That we, by way of self-inspection,
May reach the goal of sage reflection.
It may be that with too much pride
I've thought, when thou wast by my side,
Or talked with tongue too bold and free
Of what thou art, and what to me.
Perhaps I've felt too proud and glad
That such a friend as thou I had,
Lowly-hearted yet high-minded,
Warm, but ne'er by passion blinded;
Full of fine poetic dreams
And philosophic inquisitions,
Careless of what the world esteems
Her low and profitless ambitions.
Yet apt for practice,—glad at heart
To take an unrewarded part,
To labour in Heav'ns hidden mine
Thy travail rather felt than known
And gather palms thy brow to twine
Seen by th'All-seeing Eyes alone!—
These lofty visions, hovering o'er me,
Have they displeased the Pow'rs of Night,
That thus my Friend was placed before me
Unclothed of Reason's holy light?

Ah no! the vision ne'er was sent
From vainer dreams my soul to free,
And bring me sadly to repent
Because I've deemed so well of thee.
I'll think 'twas sent to let me know
Through what mutations we may go
Of grievous loss or wondrous gain,
And yet our very selves remain.
I'll think that so shalt thou, my Friend,
As far thy present self transcend,
Reborn amid celestial light,
A last immortal changeless change,
As now thou dost to waking sight
That apparition sad and strange:
Thy fluent speech that sure must be
To those that, day by day, with thee
Live on, ‘a dear domestic stream’,
I see it glide with sunny gleam,
'Mid fields of bliss, to circle round
Bright meads of amaranthine flow'rs;
Thou image on its breast profound
Th'eternal City's glorious tow'rs.