FROM the outskirts of the town, Where of old the mile-stone stood, Now a stranger, looking down I behold the shadowy crown Of the dark and haunted wood. Is it changed, or am I changed? Ah! the oaks are fresh and green, But the friends with whom I ranged Through their thickets are estranged By the years that intervene. Bright as ever flows the sea, Bright as ever shines the sun, But alas! they seem to me Not the sun that used to be, Not the tides that used to run. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: GEORGE GRAY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPRING IN NEW HAMPSHIRE by CLAUDE MCKAY THE HOUSE OF DUST: 1 by CONRAD AIKEN ONE FAVORED ACORN by ROBERT FROST THE SEVEN ARTS by ROBERT FROST |