The Same as Then

; ——

THE SAME AS THEN. The narrow streamlet swirls adown the glen, To sloping ledges, blue the gentian clings, Its foam all white the mountain water flings,

And wild, gray cliffs its voice sends back again. This place is solitude, the same as then A year has passed and love thy image brings, While to my lips a sigh of longing springs, I murmur o'er the words writ by thy pen. That year ago, a letter here I read, And then, as now, this ache was in my heart Upon this same gray stone I laid my head, Since then we met, since then again did part How useless, that I know, to question fate. For that which has been, still for that I wait.

ALFRED LAMBOURNE