Where are your ancient waves, O river, And where are your rounded leaves, You acacia trees of my youth? And where is the fresh snow of perished winters? I turn homewards and do not find home, The houses wear different clothes, Shamelessly they have gathered into unrecognizable streets, The girls with braided hair whom I loved most shyly Are women with children. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUCTION: ANDERSON GALLERIES by LOUIS UNTERMEYER CHILD'S EVENING HYMN by SABINE BARING-GOULD A WOMAN'S SHORTCOMINGS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ON AN INFANT WHICH DIED BEFORE BAPTISM by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE CONTRACT by EMILY DICKINSON ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 71 by PHILIP SIDNEY MOST ANY BIT OF LANDSCAPE by JEAN CAMERON AGNEW THE EWE-BUCHTIN'S BONNIE by GRISELL BAILLIE PROLOGUE. INTENDED FOR A DRAMATIC PIECE OF KING EDWARD THE FOURTH by WILLIAM BLAKE |