On through the quiet country-side
The road runs small and white,
The trees stand still on either side
As if to watch me there--
But stilled, stilled is the air
At the oncome of night.
And see, behind my back the moon
Eyes me with steadfast gaze;
I did not think she’d spill so soon
Her silver in the brook--
But calm, calm is her look
As she mounts through the haze.
As though I’d shed it like a husk,
My body casts no shade;
I walk suspended in the dusk
Just as a spirit might,
For yet, yet there is light
In the west--but ’twill fade
Yes, fade it will, and I shall trace
My bobbing shadow spread
Before me on the whitened face
Of the road where I must go.
And then, then I shall know
What it is that I dread.