Poetry Archives

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.