Wandering late by morning seas
  When my heart with pain was low—
Hate the censor pelted me—
  Deject I saw my shadow go.

In elf-caprice of bitter tone
I too would pelt the pelted one:
At my shadow I cast a stone.

When lo, upon that sun-lit ground
  I saw the quivering phantom take
The likeness of St. Stephen crowned:
  Then did self-reverence awake.