Poem by George MacDonald

Pilate's Wife

Why came in dreams the low-born man
Between thee and thy rest?
In vain thy whispered message ran,
Though justice was its quest!

Did some young ignorant angel dare—
Not knowing what must be,
Or blind with agony of care—
To fly for help to thee?

I know not. Rather I believe,
Thou, nobler than thy spouse,
His rumoured grandeur didst receive,
And sit with pondering brows,

Until thy maidens' gathered tale
With possible marvel teems:
Thou sleepest, and the prisoner pale
Returneth in thy dreams.

Well mightst thou suffer things not few
For his sake all the night!
In pale eclipse he suffers, who
Is of the world the light.

Precious it were to know thy dream
Of such a one as he!
Perhaps of him we, waking, deem
As poor a verity.

1. What the Lord Saith
2. Song of the Waiting Dead
3. Christmas Meditation
4. Born of Water
5. De Profundis

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