Dream (sonnet 3)

Plain be beauty of thrilling dawn
Shadow-black and Deep-grim of night
Whose elegance glids, As of glittering sun
What be the goodness of your immortal spright
Show me the pure image of your pulchritudes
Was it formed of moom's fawn or grass's green
Much as rose's red, isle's gray, purple of thistles
Like topaz in diadem or tresses of a royal queen
Dear dream, surmise I you must be a king
Who hangs but his unknown nest, so high as
sparrows
But what names a king, nabbed with his knave's ring
Why climbing in through holes of windows
Creeping, cutting hollow spaces of doors
To scare men's nap in devil's mask and horrors.