When to the valley breathed we long farewell.
Alas! it seems to me but yesterday!
That stone—rememberest thou that high-raised stone
Once of our rambles limit made and end?
It standeth now, though overgrown with moss;
Scarce might I view it, hidden thus in green.
I tore the herb off, watered it with tears.
That grassy seat, where, through the summer noon,
Thou didst among the maples love to rest;
That spring, whose waters then I sought for thee—