Bad Dreams II

You in the flesh and here,     Your very self! Now, wait!     One word! May I hope or fear?     Must I speak in love or hate?     Stay while I ruminate!     The fact and each circumstance     Dare you disown? Not you!     That vast dome, that huge dance,     And the gloom which overgrew     A possibly festive crew!     For why should men dance at all     Why women a crowd of both     Unless they are gay? Strange ball     Hands and feet plighting troth,     Yet partners enforced and loth!     Of who danced there, no shape     Did I recognize: thwart, perverse,     Each grasped each, past escape     In a whirl or weary or worse:     Mans sneer met womans curse,     While he and she toiled as if     Their guardian set galley-slaves     To supple chained limbs grown stiff:     Unmanacled trulls and knaves     The lash for who misbehaves!     And a gloom was, all the while,     Deeper and deeper yet     Oergrowing the rank and file     Of that army of haters set     To mimic loves fever-fret.     By the wall-side close I crept.     Avoiding the livid maze.     And, safely so far, outstepped     On a chamber, a chapel, says     My memory or betrays     Closet-like, kept aloof     From unseemly witnessing     What sport made floor and roof     Of the Devils palace ring     While his Damned amused their king.     Ay, for a low lamp burned,     And a silence lay about     What I, in the midst, discerned     Though dimly till, past doubt,     Twas a sort of throne stood out     High seat with steps, at least:     And the topmost step was filled     By whom? What vestured priest?     A stranger to me, his guild,     His cult, unreconciled     To my knowledge how guild and cult     Are clothed in this world of ours:     I pondered, but no result     Came to, unless that Giaours     So worship the Lower Powers.     When suddenly who entered?     Who knelt, did you guess I saw?     Who, raising that face were centred     Allegiance to love and law     So lately, off-casting awe,     Down-treading reserve, away     Thrusting respect . . . but mine     Stands firm, firm still shall stay!     Ask Satan! for I decline     To tell what I saw, in fine!     Yet here in the flesh you come,     Your same self, form and face,     In the eyes, mirth still at home!     On the lips, that commonplace     Perfection of honest grace!     Yet your errand is, needs must be,     To palliate, well, explain,     Expurgate in some degree     Your soul of its ugly stain.     Oh, you, the good in grain,     How was it your white took tinge?     A mere dream, never object!     Sleep leaves a door on hinge     Whence soul, ere our flesh suspect,     Is off and away: detect     Her vagaries when loose, who can!     Be she pranksome, be she prude,     Disguise with the day began:     With the night, ah, what ensued     From draughts of a drink hell-brewed?     Then She: What a queer wild dream!     And perhaps the best fun is,     Myself had its fellow, I seem     Scarce awake from yet. Twas this,     Shall I tell you? First, a kiss!     For the fault was just your own,     Tis myself expect apology:     You warned me to let alone     (Since our studies were mere philology)     That ticklish (you said) Anthology.     So I dreamed that I passed exam     Till a question posed me sore:     Who translated this epigram     By an author we best ignore?     And I answered, Hannah More!