On a Shadow in a Glass

by Jonathan Swift

By something form'd, I nothing am,
Yet every thing that you can name;
In no place have I ever been,
Yet everywhere I may be seen;
In all things false, yet always true,
I'm still the same--but ever now.
Lifeless, life's perfect form I wear,
Can show a nose, eye, tongue, or ear,
Yet neither smell, see, taste, nor hear.
All shapes and features I can boast,
No flesh, no bones, no blood-no ghost:
All colors, without paint, put on,
And change, like the chameleon.
Swiftly I come, and enter there,
Where not a chink lets in the air;
Like thought, I'm in a moment gone,
Nor can I ever be alone:
All things on earth I imitate
Faster than nature can create;
Sometimes imperial robes I wear,
Anon in beggar's rags appear;
A giant now, and straight an elf,
I'm every one, but ne'er myself;
Ne'er sad I mourn, ne'er glad rejoice,
I move my lips, but want a voice,
I ne'er was born, nor ne'er can die,
Then, pr'ythee, tell me what am I?