Nor the green earth, nor yet the laughing sky,
Nor the fair flower-scents,[302] as they come and go
In the soft air, like music wandering by;
—Oh! not by these, th’ unfailing, are we taught
How time and sorrow on our frames have wrought;
But by the sadden’d eye, the darken’d brow
Of kindred aspect, and the long dim gaze,
Which tells us we are changed—how changed from other days!
XXV.
Before my father, in my place of birth,