THE SHADE

I saw him as he went

With merry voice and eye.

I met him when he came

Back, tired but the same —

The same clear voice, bright eye,

Merry laugh, quick reply.

And now, if I but look

Unnoting at a book,

Or from the window stare

At dark woods newly bare,

I see that shining eye,

The same as when he went:

— But whose is the low sigh,

The cold shade o'er me bent?