Poems (Bacon)/The shadow

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V. THE SHADOW
If you and I should join our hands  And go at night soft through the hall, I wonder could we hope to catch  That shadow sliding from the wall?
He slips and slips and slips away,  I touched his arm—and he was gone! I cannot see his face, can you?  What wall can that be painted on?
Because they say he is n't real,  They say he 's just a flattened form; But me, I don't believe it 's true,  I touched his arm, and it was warm!
Right through the wall he slips and sinks:  The room behind, you know, is mine. What can he want there in the dark?  He never makes a sound nor sign.
He never goes there in the day,  Only at night, right after tea, And then I go to bed, you know,  And then he runs ahead of me.
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If you will hold my hand quite close,  And creep along with me quite still, We 'll make a sudden jump—but no!  We 'll touch him then—I know we will!
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