The Shadow

It has followed me for years, I have seen It slim and tall; When the day its distance wears, It has lengthened on the wall; Slanting black On my track, I have felt Its presence fall.

Oft I flee at break of day, But It races as I ride; Oft I seek to slink away, But It slouches at my side; Or It steals On my heels, As the bridegroom to the bride.

As I roam along the track Of the vagrants o’er the leas; Oft I mark one glancing back, And I ask him what he sees-- But they laugh As they chaff, “’Tis his shadow that he flees!”

I shall ask of one I love, Pointing to Its passage fleet, As along the ways we rove, What It is that haunts the street. She will say, “Nay, nay, nay, ’Tis the shadow at your feet!”

I shall wink and see the trick-- Do they dream that I am blind? I have but to turn, and quick, On my pathway I shall find That It wags, And It lags, But It follows close behind.

All the night It hides Its shape In the dusk beside my bed; If my vigil I escape, If I once but turn my head, While I sleep, It will creep, Till I lie beneath It dead.

And the end at last shall come, Weariness will close my eyes, I shall fall before It dumb, When unto my heart It flies. It will gloat O’er my throat, As Its length upon me lies.