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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