By Walter Savage Landor

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.