Poems (Sharpless)/The Shadow

by Frances M. Sharpless

For works with similar titles, see The Shadow.

THE SHADOW

Clouds in the dim horizon,
 And clouds upon my soul,
As I list to the wild grief-lulling voice
 Of the wind's tempestuous roll.
Gray, gray is the sky above me,
 And gray my life appears;
My lonely heart sinks cold and low
 With weight of unshed tears.

Want and sickness and hunger
 Are dogging me day by day;
Real sorrows are these that no reasoning thought
 Of mine can chase away.
See! 'tis a shadow moving
 Upon the white-washed wall,—
A little shadow, a fleeting shadow,—
 Just passed, and that was all.

And within an opposite window,
 A form that I know, and knew
In the sunny days of my earlier life,
 That fleeting shadow threw.
And I know that her eyes are earnest
 With purpose good and pure;
And the Faith of Innocent Love shines forth
 From their clear and deep azure.

And I feel her love around me
 Fall still thro' the heavy air;
And it soothes my wearied, worn soul
 Like an angel-tone of prayer.
Oh! yes, and at eve she kneeleth,
 Raising her hands so white;
My name on her lips is dwelling
 In her vesper prayer at night.

That shadow—'tis gone so quickly—
 And yet a sunny beam
Comes thro' the gray clouds around me,
 A joy-imparting gleam.
For, oh! while she still can love me
 I'll bravely bear thro' all,
And my talisman of faith shall be
 That shadow on the wall.