 | Hours at Naples, and Other Poems |  |
318
YEARS FLEET AWAY.
Years fleet away—and all things pass—And nothing is the same, alas!—
New friends—new hopes—the world is new—
And we ourselves are altered too—
Oh! we are altered most of all,
And darker change o'er us doth fall.
And this the secret heart must know,
Though loath still to allow 'tis so!
Yet one light word—one fleeting word,
Can touch on Memory's magic chord,
And lo! our own Old World will start
To life once more—once more to part!
| Hours at Naples, and Other Poems | |