POETRY.
A SONG OF SHADOWS.
THE city is weird with shadows, In the shine of a sunny day You may see them darken the pavements Furtive, and hushed, and grey, They crouch by the brooding houses, They flit thro' the streets below Every man has his shadow That follows him to and fro.
And still when the day is sunless They haunt the heart of the din, They dance at the heels of pleasure, They run before folly and sin, Love, and honour, and beauty
They follow without a sound,—
If the sun shine out but a moment You may see them darken the ground.
The city is weird with shadows, And fear or thought of them lies On pallid and weary faces, In hungry and wistful eyes, In brains that madden with sorrow, In hearts that sadden and break,— Shadows of day and darkness Nor sun nor moon ever make.
Heedless each of the other, The dense crowd goes on its way : They are shadows born of the daylight And pass and fade with the day, And the gold and glory they garner, What is it when all is done ?- Every man has his shadow, Tho' he walk in the shade or the sun.
A. ST. JOHN AD COCK.
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