Chapter 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 isn’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.

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!