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28

Shadows

Most strange it is to stand when shades are free—
Loosed from the light that chained them here and there,
To hold their hushed dominion everywhere—
To stand and commune with them silently.
For one was bound by daylight's tyrant glare
The faithful follower of a cur to be;
And one was forced—light fetters needed he—
To wait all day upon a maiden fair.
And each wore then the shape of love or loathing
Of him whom Day their daylong master made;
Now all have doffed their loved or hated clothing,
And mingle o'er the earth in shapeless shade.
And we, when Death shall lose our souls from Self,
Shall shudder to have served so foul an elf.