BLACK CAT POEMS
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Edith Matilda Thomas
Treasure the shadow. Somewhere, firmly based,
Arise those turrets that in cloud-land shine;
Somewhere, to thirsty toilers of the waste,
Yon phantom well-spring is a living sign.
Treasure the shadow. Somewhere, past thy sight,
Past all men's sight, waits the true
Tell them whose
would put thy
There are no shadows save from substance cast.
poems by Edith Matilda Thomas