47 THE DARK COMPANION

I and my Shadow are so made one That were we parted each life were done. Throughout the flight of the blithe bright day Always he follows me, doggedly; But I need not heed him,—because my way Is flecked with sunlight,—and shrug to see How fondly my Shadow follows me. When dying day grows chill and stark, And vigilant stars troop each to his place, He rises,—being free in the dark, He rises and grins,—being freed for a space, He rises to talk with me face to face. Then he tells me of much I am loth to hear, For he whispers of all that we two have seen, And loved, and squandered. At forty year, My master, how wide is the gulf between That which we are and what might have been! And he whispers of dreams that the years degrade, And of lust made lord over love’s demesne, And of chances wasted, and faith betrayed. My master, how wide is the gulf between That which we are and what might have been! Even thus he whispers; and he and I Sit thus, alone, till the night’s defeat Is signaled eastward, and chance thereby Wins room for a morrow, fair and fleet, That finds my Shadow beneath my feet. I and my Shadow are so made one That were we parted each life were done.