I have lived with Shades so long, So long have talked to them, I sped to street and throng, That sometimes they In their dim style Will pause awhile To hear my say;
II
And take me by the hand, And lead me through their rooms In the To-Be, where Dooms Half-wove and shapeless stand: And show from there The dwindled dust And rot and rust Of things that were.
III
“Now turn,” they said to me One day: “Look whence we came, And signify his name Who gazes thence at thee”— —”Nor name nor race Know I, or can,” I said, “Of man So commonplace.”
IV
“He moves me not at all: I note no ray or jot Of rareness in his lot, Or star exceptional. Into the dim Dead throngs around He’ll sink, nor sound Be left of him.”
V
“Yet,” said they, “his frail speech, Hath accents pitched like thine— Thy mould and his define A likeness each to each— But go! Deep pain Alas, would be His name to thee, And told in vain!”
