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 HERE, ever since you went abroad, 
 If there be change no change I see: 
I only walk our wonted road, 
 The road is only walk'd by me.
Yes; I forgot; a change there is-- Was it of that you bade me tell? I catch at times, at times I miss The sight, the tone, I know so well.
Only two months since you stood here? Two shortest months? Then tell me why Voices are harsher than they were, And tears are longer ere they dry.

by Robert Seymour Bridges
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