Out of a Dream

Out of a dream I came--
Woeful with sinister shapes,
Hollow sockets aflame,
The mouth that gapes
With cries, unheard, of the dark;
The bleak, black night of the soul;
Sweating, I lay in my bed,
Sick of the wake for a goal.

And lo--Earth's close-shut door,
Its panels a cross, its key
Of common and rusting iron,
Opened, and showed to me
A face--found; lost--of old:
Of a lifetime's longing the sum;
And eyes that assuaged all grief:
"Behold! I am come."
~Walter de la Mare