Prose · 1888 · Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry
A Dream
William Allingham
I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night;I went to the window to see the sight;All the Dead that ever I knewGoing one by one and two by two.
On they pass’d, and on they pass’d;Townsfellows all, from first to last;Born in the moonlight of the lane,Quench’d in the heavy shadow again.
Schoolmates, marching as when we play’dAt soldiers once—but now more staid;Those were the strangest sight to meWho were drown’d, I knew, in the awful sea.
Straight and handsome folk; bent and weak, too;Some that I loved, and gasp’d to speak to;Some but a day in their churchyard bed;Some that I had not known were dead.
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.
How long since I saw that fair pale face!Ah! Mother dear! might I only placeMy head on thy breast, a moment to rest,While thy hand on my tearful cheek were prest!
On, on, a moving bridge they madeAcross the moon-stream, from shade to shade,Young and old, women and men;Many long-forgot, but remember’d then.
And first there came a bitter laughter;A sound of tears the moment after;And then a music so lofty and gay,That every morning, day by day,I strive to recall it if I may.
Text: Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry, edited and selected by W. B. Yeats (Walter Scott, London, 1888). Public domain.