The Shade

I saw him as he went With merry voice and eye. I met him when he came Back, tired but the same— The same clear voice, bright eye, Merry laugh, quick reply. And now, if I but look Unnoting at a book, Or from the window stare At dark woods newly bare, I see that shining eye, The same as when he went: —But whose is the low sigh, The cold shade o'er me bent?