Classic Poem

In truth, all things beneath the sky
But shadows seem, —
Shadows that catch the dazzled eye,
Mere shadows swiftly gliding by,
False as a dream.

And yet, though false, they often cheer
Hours dark to me:
Yes, often mirrored in a tear
I see familiar faces dear,
No more to be.

Still all are shadows, man or flower,
Passing with time;
All, — e'en the mountain's unscaled tower,
That awes the earth with mystic power
Lone and sublime.

And yet, of sainted loved ones meek,
Shadows are cast
From skies that ne'er grow chill or bleak;
Shadows that seem, heart-touched, to speak
Of years now past;

Shadows that stalk close at my side,
Life-like as truth;
Shadows in which I still confide;
Shadows that dance on life's dark tide;
Shadows of youth;

Shadows of nymphs that trod the vale,
And culled its flowers;
Shadows that loved the stars to hail,
And paused to hear the brooklet's wail,
In moonlit hours;

Shadows of joys flown long ago
With happier days;
Shadows of hours I ne'er shall know;
Shadows of hopes no more to glow,
Shorn of their rays;

Shadows of memories ever blest,
Though pensive all;
Shadows that come at my behest,
With healing power to soothe my breast,
Whate'er befall.

Ah me! how oft have shadows brought
One message more
From realms of bliss to souls untaught,
Prophetic of the change that's wrought
When life is o'er!