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Poem	O God, in the dream the terrible horse began To paw at the air, and make for me with his blows, Fear kept for thirty-five years poured through his mane, And retribution equally old, or nearly, breathed through his nose. Coward complete, I lay and wept on the ground When some strong creature appeared, and leapt for the rein. Another woman, as I lay half in a swound Leapt in the air, and clutched at the leather and chain. Give him, she said, something of yours as a charm. Throw him, she said, some poor thing you alone claim. No, no, I cried, he hates me; he is out for harm, And whether I yield or not, it is all the same. But, like a lion in a legend, when I flung the glove Pulled from my sweating, my cold right hand; The terrible beast, that no one may understand, Came to my side, and put down his head in love.
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