Or from the wall they look from, with fix’d eyes
Pursuing me; and one most strange of all
That, as I pass’d the crystal on the wall,
Look’d from it—left it—and as I return,
Returns, and looks me face to face again—
Unless some false reflection of my brain,
The outward semblance of myself—Myself?
How know that tawdry shadow for myself,
But that it moves as I move; lifts his hand
With mine; each motion echoing so close