From the outskirts of the town <br />Where of old the mile-stone stood, <br />Now a stranger, looking down <br />I behold the shadowy crown <br />Of the dark and haunted wood. <br /> <br />Is it changed, or am I changed? <br />Ah! the oaks are fresh and green, <br />But the friends with whom I ranged <br />Through their thickets are estranged <br />By the years that intervene. <br /> <br />Bright as ever flows the sea, <br />Bright as ever shines the sun, <br />But alas! they seem to me <br />Not the sun that used to be, <br />Not the tides that used to run.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/changed-birds-of-passage-flight-the-third/
