So his heart fluttered all the way he went,
Listening each moment for the vesper bell;
For a long hour he deemed he must have spent
In that untrodden dell.
XLIII.
And once it seemed that something new or strange
Had passed upon the flowers the trees the ground,
Some slight but unintelligible change
On every thing around:
XLIV.
Such change, where all things undisturbed remain,
As only to the eye of him appears,
Who absent long, at length returns again—
The silent work of years.
XLV.
And ever grew upon him more and more
Fresh marvel—for, unrecognised of all,
He stood a stranger at the convent door—
New faces filled the hall.
XLVI.
Yet was it long ere he received the whole
Of that strange wonder—how, while he had stood
Lost in deep gladness of his inmost soul,
Far hidden in that wood,