HERE, ever since you went abroad,
If there be change no change I see:
I only walk our wonted road,
The road is only walk'd by me.
Yes; I forgot; a change there is—
Was it of that you bade me tell?
I catch at times, at times I miss
The sight, the tone, I know so well.
Only two months since you stood here?
Two shortest months? Then tell me why
Voices are harsher than they were,
And tears are longer ere they dry.
| About the poet |
|
| By the same poet |
| The Maid's Lament |
| Rose Aylmer |
| Ianthe |
| Twenty Years hence |
| Verse |
| Proud Word you never spoke |
| Resignation |
| Mother, I cannot mind my Wheel |
| Autumn |
| Remain! |
| Of Clementina |
| Ianthe's Question |
| On Catullus |
| Dirce |
| Alciphron and Leucippe |
| Years |
| Separation |
| Late Leaves |
| Finis |
| Related books |
| Walter Savage Landor at amazon.co.uk |
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