Will. H. Ogilvie


The Shadow On The Blind

Last night I walked among the lamps that gleamed,
   And saw a shadow on a window blind,
A moving shadow; and the picture seemed
   To call some scene to mind.

I looked again; a dark form to and fro
   Swayed softly as to music full of rest,
Bent low, bent lower: -- Still I did not know.
   And then, at last, I guessed.

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