My Shadow's Stature Poem by John James Piatt

WHENE'RE, in morning airs, I walk abroad,
Breasting upon the hills the buoyant wind,
Up from the vale my shadow climbs behind,
An earth-born giant climbing toward his god;
Against the sun, on heights before untrod,
I stand: faint glorified, but undefined,
Far down the slope in misty meadows blind,
I see my ghostly follower slowly plod.
'O stature of my shade,' I muse and sigh,
'How great art thou, how small am I the while!'
Then the vague giant blandly answers, 'True,
But though thou art small thy head is in the sky,
Crown'd with the sun and all the Heaven's smile--
My head is in the shade and valley too.'