He turned out into the raw white dawn,
Trying to call to mind
What he had sought all night in dream,
But could not find—

What he had sought in the unknown drifts
Of an unfamiliar pit,
Crawling through endless galleries,
By no lamp lit—

Crawling on hands and knees, with the weight
Of earth upon his brow:
And, as he trudged through the slush, it all
Came over him now;

The dream's black terror closed down on him,
As the raw air caught his breath;
And he wondered if he would find it to-day,
And if 'twas death.