The Wanderer: Oh, is it already time to part? And I had to hurt you in the end—I saw you became darker.
The Shadow: I blushed the only colour I have at command. I remembered that I had often lain at your feet like a dog, and that you then——
The Wanderer: Can I not with all speed do something to please you? Have you no wish?
The Shadow: None, except perhaps the wish that the philosophic “dog”[31] expressed to Alexander the Great—just move a little out of my light; I feel cold.
The Wanderer: What am I to do?
The Shadow: Walk under those fir-trees and look around you towards the mountains; the sun is sinking.
The Wanderer: Where are you? Where are you?