“A dream! how strange that it should move me so,
  ’Twas but a dream,” quoth Justice Wilvermore: 
“And yet I cannot peace nor pleasure know,
  For wrongs I have not heeded heretofore;
Silver and gear the crone shall have of me,
And dwell for life in yonder cottage free.

“For visions of the night are fearful things,
  Remorse is dread, though merely in a dream;
I will not subject me to visitings
  Of such a sort again.  I will esteem
My peace above my pride.  From natures rude
A little gold will buy me gratitude.

“The woman shall have leave to gather wood,
  As much as she may need, the long year round;
She shall, I say,—­moreover, it were good
  Yon other cottage roofs to render sound. 
Thus to my soul the ancient peace restore,
And sleep at ease,” quoth Justice Wilvermore.

With that he nears the door:  a frosty rime
  Is branching over it, and drifts are deep
Against the wall.  He knocks, and there is time,—­
  (For none doth open),—­time to list the sweep
And whistle of the wind along the mere
Through beds of stiffened reeds and rushes sere.

“If she be out, I have my pains for nought,”
  He saith, and knocks again, and yet once more,
But to his ear nor step nor stir is brought;
  And after pause, he doth unlatch the door
And enter.  No:  she is not out, for see
She sits asleep ’mid frost-work winterly.

Asleep, asleep before her empty grate,
  Asleep, asleep, albeit the landlord call. 
“What, dame,” he saith, and comes toward her straight,
  “Asleep so early!” But whate’er befall,
She sleepeth; then he nears her, and behold
He lays a hand on hers, and it is cold.

Then doth the Justice to his home return;
  From that day forth he wears a sadder brow;
His hands are opened, and his heart doth learn
  The patience of the poor.  He made a vow
And keeps it, for the old and sick have shared
His gifts, their sordid homes he hath repaired.

And some he hath made happy, but for him
  Is happiness no more.  He doth repent,
And now the light of joy is waxen dim,
  Are all his steps toward the Highest sent;
He looks for mercy, and he waits release
Above, for this world doth not yield him peace.

Night after night, night after desolate night,
  Day after day, day after tedious day,
Stands by his fire, and dulls its gleamy light,
  Paceth behind or meets him in the way;
Or shares the path by hedgerow, mere, or stream,
The visitor that doomed him in his dream.

    Thy kingdom come. 
I heard a Seer cry,—­“The wilderness,
    The solitary place,
Shall yet be glad for Him, and He shall bless
(Thy kingdom come) with his revealed face
The forests; they shall drop their precious gum,
And shed for Him their balm:  and He shall yield
The grandeur of His speech to charm the field.