ART thou the selfsame wind that blew When I was but a boy? Thy voice is like the voice I knew, And yet the thrill of joy Has softened to a sadder tone -- Perchance the echo of mine own. Beside a sea of memories In solitude I dwell: Upon the shore forsaken lies Alas! no murmuring shell! Are all the voices lost to me Still wandering the world with thee? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RESOLUTION OF DEPENDENCE by GEORGE BARKER SPANIARDS' GRAVES AT THE ISLES OF SHOALS by CELIA LEIGHTON THAXTER |