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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
One night a dream
She dreamed—ah, how unlike that Chinon dream!—
The war was past; to Arc she walked alone,
Less buoyant was her footstep than of old;
Heavy with August sunshine spread the boughs;
The harvest slopes were golden. Near arrived,
Her heart already in her childhood's home,
She clomb a rock which over-gazed the village.
Back she recoiled. There endless winter reigned!
Deep snow hid all. The Maid—so ran her dream—
Thought thus—or heard it from a stranger near
‘The Penance this of some poor soul that sinned.’
Rushed from that rock, pushed knee-deep through that snow:
She found her parents' hut half fallen. One hearth
Remained, a cradle near, a mastiff dead—
It had not stiffened yet.
She dreamed—ah, how unlike that Chinon dream!—
The war was past; to Arc she walked alone,
Less buoyant was her footstep than of old;
Heavy with August sunshine spread the boughs;
The harvest slopes were golden. Near arrived,
Her heart already in her childhood's home,
She clomb a rock which over-gazed the village.
Back she recoiled. There endless winter reigned!
Deep snow hid all. The Maid—so ran her dream—
Thought thus—or heard it from a stranger near
‘The Penance this of some poor soul that sinned.’
Rushed from that rock, pushed knee-deep through that snow:
She found her parents' hut half fallen. One hearth
Remained, a cradle near, a mastiff dead—
348
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |