 | From the Hills of Dream |  |
High Noon.
To-day, as I walked at high noonTo-day, as I walked at high noon, listening to the larks filling the April blue with a spray of delicate song, I saw a shadow pass me, where no one was, and where nothing moved, above me or around. It was not my shadow that passed me, nor the shadow of one for whom I longed. That other shadow came not.
I have heard that there is a god clothed in shadow who goes to and fro among the human kind, putting silence between hearts with his waving hands, and breathing a chill out of his cold breath, and leaving a gulf as of deep waters flowing between them because of the passing of his feet.
Thus, thus it was that that other shadow for which I longed came not. Yet, in the April blue I heard the wild aerial chimes of song, and watched the golden fulfilment of the day under the high illimitable arch of noon.
| From the Hills of Dream | |