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.