The Sleep-Worker

 When wilt thou wake, O Mother, wake and see - 
As one who, held in trance, has laboured long 
By vacant rote and prepossession strong - 
The coils that thou hast wrought unwittingly; 

Wherein have place, unrealized by thee, 
Fair growths, foul cankers, right enmeshed with wrong, 
Strange orchestras of victim-shriek and song, 
And curious blends of ache and ecstasy? - 

Should that morn come, and show thy opened eyes 
All that Life's palpitating tissues feel, 
How wilt thou bear thyself in thy surprise? - 

Wilt thou destroy, in one wild shock of shame, 
Thy whole high heaving firmamental frame, 
Or patiently adjust, amend, and heal?

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