 | Sonnets by the Rev. Charles Turner [i.e. Charles Tennyson] |  |
87
A DREAM.
I dreamed a morning dream—a torrent broughtFrom fruitless hills, was rushing deep and wide:
It ran in rapids, like impatient thought;
It wheeled in eddies, like bewildered pride:
Bleak-faced Neology, in cap and gown,
Peered up the channel of the spreading tide,
As, with a starved expectancy, he cried,
‘When will the Body of the Christ come down?’
He came—not It, but He! no rolling waif
Tost by the waves—no drowned and helpless form—
But with unlapsing step, serene and safe,
As once He trod the waters in the storm;
The gownsman trembled as his God went by—
I looked again, the torrent-bed was dry.
| Sonnets by the Rev. Charles Turner [i.e. Charles Tennyson] | |