The Dream of the Rood

Unknown

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Hwæt! Ic swefna cyst     secgan wylle,
hwæt me gemætte     to midre nihte
syðþan reordberend     reste wunedon.
Þuhte me þæt ic gesawe     syllicre treow

on lyft lædan,     leohte bewunden,
beama beorhtost.     Eall þæt beacen wæs
begoten mid golde.     Gimmas stodon
fægere æt foldan sceatum,     swylce þær fife wæron
uppe on þam eaxlgespanne.     Beheoldon þær engel dryhtnes ealle

fægere þurh forðgesceaft.     Ne wæs ðær huru fracodes gealga,
ac hine þær beheoldon     halige gastas,
men ofer moldan,     ond eall þeos mære gesceaft.
Syllic wæs se sigebeam,     ond ic synnum fah,
forwunded mid wommum.     Geseah ic wuldres treow,

wædum geweorðode,     wynnum scinan,
gegyred mid golde;     gimmas hæfdon
bewrigene weorðlice     wealdendes treow.
Hwæðre ic þurh þæt gold     ongytan meahte
earmra ærgewin,     þæt hit ærest ongan

swætan on þa swiðran healfe.     Eall ic wæs mid sorgum gedrefed,
forht ic wæs for þære fægran gesyhðe.     Geseah ic þæt fuse beacen
wendan wædum ond bleom:     hwilum hit wæs mid wætan bestemed,
beswyled mid swates gange,     hwilum mid since gegyrwed.
Hwæðre ic þær licgende     lange hwile

beheold hreowcearig     hælendes treow,
oððæt ic gehyrde     þæt hit hleoðrode.
Ongan þa word sprecan     wudu selesta:
“Þæt wæs geara iu     (ic þæt gyta geman)
þæt ic wæs aheawen     holtes on ende,

astyred of stefne minum.     Genaman me ðær strange feondas,
geworhton him þær to wæfersyne,     heton me heora wergas hebban.

Listen
and I will tell you
how the highest of dreams
came to me at midnight
when all voices
were hushed in sleep.
It seemed I saw
a wondrous tree ascending into Heaven — sheathed in stars, wreathed in gold, of beacons brightest. Gemstones studded all the corners 
of the Earth; and the five finest adorned 
the cross-beam. All beings fair beheld there, 
by eternal decree, the Angel of the Lord. 
This was no criminal’s gallows; but guarded 
by Holy Spirits, worshipped by men and all 
of glorious Creation.  Proud stood
the Tree of Victory and I, sin-stained, worry-wounded, 
beheld it there: robed in light, shining with joys, gilded. 
Yet beneath the gold
there stirred — I could perceive —
a struggle still, 
the wretched grasping; 
as blood began to pour
down its right flank.
I was wrenched
with sorrow,
cowering
before the beautiful sight.
I saw that blazing beacon
shift its skin;
one moment soaked with sweat,
weeping blood,
the next armored in treasure.
It seemed as though
I lay there an eternity, 
tortured, 
sole witness to the Savior’s tree,
until at once
I heard that forest’s King
begin to speak:
“I remember the dawn,
so long ago,
when from the edge of the woods
I was hewn down by men,
ripped from my roots.
I was made a spectacle
by cruel enemies, 
commanded
to raise up criminals.”