| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895. |
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| A Dream |
| | | William Allingham (1824–89) |
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| I HEARD the dogs howl in the moonlight night; | |
| I went to the window to see the sight; | |
| All the Dead that ever I knew | |
| Going one by one and two by two. | |
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| On they pass’d, and on they pass’d; | 5 |
| Townsfellows all, from first to last; | |
| Born in the moonlight of the lane, | |
| Quench’d in the heavy shadow again. | |
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| Schoolmates, marching as when we play’d | |
| At soldiers once—but now more staid; | 10 |
| Those were the strangest sight to me | |
| Who were drown’d, I knew, in the awful sea. | |
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| Straight and handsome folk; bent and weak, too; | |
| Some that I lov’d, and gasp’d to speak to; | |
| Some but a day in their churchyard bed; | 15 |
| Some that I had not known were dead. | |
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| A long, long crowd—where each seem’d lonely, | |
| Yet of them all there was one, one only, | |
| Raised a head or look’d my way: | |
| She linger’d a moment,—she might not stay. | 20 |
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| How long since I saw that fair pale face! | |
| Ah! Mother dear! might I only place | |
| My head on thy breast, a moment to rest, | |
| While thy hand on my tearful cheek were prest! | |
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| On, on a moving bridge they made | 25 |
| Across the moon-stream, from shade to shade, | |
| Young and old, women and men; | |
| Many long-forgot, but remember’d then. | |
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| And first there came a bitter laughter; | |
| A sound of tears the moment after; | 30 |
| And then a music so lofty and gay, | |
| That every morning, day by day, | |
| I strive to recall it if I may. | |
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