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<h2> DREAM TRAGEDIES </h2>
<p>Thou art not always kind, O sleep:<br/>
What awful secrets them dost keep<br/>
In store, and ofttimes make us know;<br/>
What hero has not fallen low<br/>
In sleep before a monster grim,<br/>
And whined for mercy unto him;<br/>
Knights, constables, and men-at-arms<br/>
Have quailed and whined in sleep's alarms.<br/>
Thou wert not kind last night to make<br/>
Me like a very coward shake—<br/>
Shake like a thin red-currant bush<br/>
Robbed of its fruit by a strong thrush.<br/>
I felt this earth did move; more slow,<br/>
And slower yet began to go;<br/>
And not a bird was heard to sing,<br/>
Men and great beasts were shivering;<br/>
All living things knew well that when<br/>
This earth stood still, destruction then<br/>
Would follow with a mighty crash.<br/>
'Twas then I broke that awful hush:<br/>
E'en as a mother, who does come<br/>
Running in haste back to her home,<br/>
And looks at once, and lo, the child<br/>
She left asleep is gone; and wild<br/>
She shrieks and loud—so did I break<br/>
With a mad cry that dream, and wake.<br/></p>
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