Page:Enoch Arden, etc - Tennyson - 1864.djvu/125

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SEA DREAMS.
109
‘Then I fixtMy wistful eyes on two fair images,Both crown’d with stars and high among the stars,—The Virgin Mother standing with her childHigh up on one of those dark minster-fronts—Till she began to totter, and the childClung to the mother, and sent out a cryWhich mixt with little Margaret’s, and I woke,And my dream awed me:—well—but what are dreams?Yours came but from the breaking of a glass,And mine but from the crying of a child.’
 ‘Child? No!’ said he, ‘but this tide’s roar, and his,Our Boanerges with his threats of doom,And loud-lung’d Antibabylonianisms(Altho’ I grant but little music there)Went both to make your dream: but if there wereA music harmonizing our wild cries,Sphere-music such as that you dream’d about,Why, that would make our passions far too like
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