There were four angels round my bed, I
With burning candlesticks outspread—
Two at my feet, two at my head.
They tricked the darkness of its dread,
My four angels,
My bright candles.
There came a man of vision clear,
He said: "The angels are not here,
They are phantoms born of fear.
I speak, and they will disappear—
Those four angels,
Those bright candles."Out they went, and there instead
Rolled the universe outspread
In tumbling terror round my head;
So that I go afraid to bed,
With no angels,
With no candles.
Ruth Manning-Sanders.
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