William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. (1878–1962). Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1920.
Walkers
S
A pace so free and fleet,
When such relentless destinies
Stalk at her feet.
Where their shadows run
With her footfall, sinister
In the sun.
By clouds where long hills dip,
And some sharp like the broken mast
Of a drifted ship.
Defying the darkened ground,
She keeps a pace whose echoes shed
Laughing sound.
The old shadows stir,
Deepening as they steal
Nearer her.
She passes by though long ago
Time drained the life out of her tread;
She died then, yet she does not know
That she is dead.
With sound, and who are dead should pass
Sandaled as the wind when it
Moves through the grass.
And who are not of life should run
Shadowless as a lily’s stalk
In full day’s sun.
And shadow casting ragged stains;
They drag behind her on the ground
Like broken chains.
Darkness, insidious and slow,
Blotting her imprint … but she is dead
And does not know.