Sonnet. Though Thou Return Unto The Former Things, by Frances Anne Kemble

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Though thou return unto the former things,
Fields, woods, and gardens, where thy feet have strayed
In other days, and not a bough, branch, blade
Of tree, or meadow, but the same appears
As when thou lovedst them in former years,
They shall not seem the same, the spirit brings
Change from the inward, though the outward be
E’en as it was, when thou didst weep to see
It last, and spak’st that prophecy of pain,
‘Farewell! I shall not look on ye again.’
And so thou never didst—no, though e’en now
Thine eyes behold all they so loved of yore,
The Thou that did behold them then, no more
Lives in this world, it is another Thou.

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