The Shadow on the Stone

Thomas Hardy

I went by the Druid stone

That broods in the garden white and lone,

And I stopped and looked at the shifting shadows,

That at some moments fall thereon

From the tree hard by with a rhythmic swing,

And they shaped in my imagining

To the shade that a well-known head and shoulders

Threw there when she was gardening.

I thought her behind my back,

Yea, her I long had learned to lack,

And I said：“I am sure you are standing behind me,

Though how do you get into this old track？”

And there was no sound but the fall of a leaf

As a sad response; and to keep down my grief

I would not turn my head to discover

That there was nothing in my belief.

Yet I wanted to look and see

That nobody stood at the back of me;

But I thought once more：“Nay, I'll not unvision

A shape which, somehow, there may be.”

So I went on softly from the glade,

And left her behind me throwing her shade,

As she were indeed all apparition—

My head unturned lest my dream should fade.