IS this really my own roof-tree, My beloved parents' home? Joyous as of yore the swallows Darting out and in do come. Fragrance giving, strews the linden Perfumed blossoms on my hair, And, above, the azure heaven Laughs as erst in sunlight fair. All things lie in self-same places, All things are just as of yore; On the gable of the cottage Doves are cooing as before. Water from the pipe is flowing Thirsty wand'rers to relieve, And to flowers, blossoms, grass-blades Sacred Sunday peace doth cleave. Yet to me all things seem altered, As by burden sore oppressed; Closely do I clasp my kindred, Almost weeping, to my breast. Yes, these are the self-same chambers, Fairyland of childhood's frame, These the old beloved meadows -- I alone am not the same. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHO WALKS WITH BEAUTY by DAVID MORTON THE STATESMEN by AMBROSE BIERCE SUBWAY by CLARA EXLINE BOCKOVEN MILLICENT by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE ROCK OF LIBERTY; A PILGRIM ODE, 1629-1920: 1. VISION by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |