The Earth Turns South/Shadow

by Clement Richardson Wood

For works with similar titles, see Shadow.

SHADOW

My shadow is a restless thing,—At dawn it wanly stealsBack from the western darkness,Till it tags behind my heels.

As morning grows, it hugs me close,—Until, when noon's rays beatOut of the blazing overhead,It cowers beneath my feet.

At evening, it seeks the East,Inching its dusky wayFarther and farther down the road,Fleeing the aging day.

And when the sun's at sky-line edge,It leaps and gayly runsThinly out to AldebaranAnd all the cindery suns.

A cloud has dimmed the farthest star,A frown against its light,—My shadow's lean gray fingers touch it,At the edge of night.

Oh, it can touch the farthest star,But cannot bring me wordOf what pale glitter it has dimmed,What lost sounds it has heard.