The sunlight steals in through the pane
And lies aslant the floor;
The vine climbs up toward the roof
Just as it did of yore.
Upon the lawn the stately elms
Point still unto the skies,
The graceful willow bendeth yet
Beneath its weight of sighs.
Beside the path the roses grow,
As in the past they grew;
The violets still look a prayer
From out their eyes of blue.
The same old spot--yet not the same--
The walls are browner grown,
And moss has covered all the roof
Since I was last at home.
Change has been busy all these years,
And here I stand once more,
And only list to echoes where
Were voices sweet before.
Upon the shores of memory,
The waves of long ago
Are breaking ever ceaselessly,
And murmuring ever low.
There murmurs with the shadows drift
In through the open door,
And each are hymning what has been
But will be, nevermore.
