I

I have lived with shades so long,

And talked to them so oft,

Since forth from cot and croft

I went mankind among,

   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,” spake they 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!”

Feb. 2, 1899.