Walter Murdoch (1874–1970). The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse. 1918.

122. The Dream

I WOKE to find my pillow wet

With the tears for deeds deep hid in sleep.

I knew no sorrow here, but yet

The tears fell softly through the deep.

Your eyes, your other eyes of dream,

Looked at me through the veil of blank;

I saw their joyous, starlit gleam

Like one who watches rank on rank.

His victor airy legions wind

And pass before his awful throne—

Was there thy loving heart unkind,

Was I thy captive all o’erthrown?