Shadows are uncanny things;
They don't have legs, they don't have wings.
Do they come from near? Do they come from far?
All of a sudden there they are!
Look 'way of on the distant hills,
Where a dreamy light the soft air fills,
See those shadows drift and float:
Each goes along like a phantom boat.
A shadow is an impish thing
And out of nothing it will spring.
And if you try to get away
From one that follows you some day,
You'll find, no matter what you do,
That impish thing will stick to you.
When there comes a moonlight night,
And over all a silver light,
All in black they stand around,
Not a noise, not a sound,
Not a movement do they make,
Till your knees from terror quake!
Oh, it is a spooky sight,
Those shadows on a moonlight night.
They get behind the rose-bush tall
And mimic it upon the wall,
Then under trees they find a place
and change themselves to golden lace.
Where do they come from? Out of the air?
All of a sudden they are not there.