I Went By The Druid Stone That Broods In The Garden White And Lone, And I Stopped And Looked At The Shifting Shadows That At Some Moments Fall Thereon From The Tree Hard By With A Rhythmic Swing, And They Shaped In My Imagining To The Shade That A Well-Known Head And Shoulders Threw There When She Was Gardening. I Thought Her Behind My Back, Yea, Her I Long Had Learned To Lack, And I Said: "I Am Sure You Are Standing Behind Me, Though How Do You Get Into This Old Track?" And There Was No Sound But The Fall Of A Leaf As A Sad Response; And To Keep Down Grief I Would Not Turn My Head To Discover That There Was Nothing In My Belief. Yet I Wanted To Look And See That Nobody Stood At The Back Of Me; But I Thought Once More: "Nay, I'll Not Unvision A Shape Which, Somehow, There May Be." So I Went On Softly From The Glade, And Left Her Behind Me Throwing Her Shade, As She Were Indeed An Apparition - My Head Unturned Lest My Dream Should Fade. Begun 1913: Finished 1916.