Why am I lingering here? — the flowers which pleased
My vagrant youth have wither'd long ago!
My footsteps on this well known path are now
All lost and worn away by strangers' feet;
And if I tread again my native halls,
There are new faces — there a seat is fill'd,
That should be vacant now — the noise of crowds,
Where not a heart responsive beats to mine,
Will to this dull ear tell a tale more sad
Than desolation.