Again we see the walls and ancient towers,
    The brown-capped water-fort, the Rathhaus-
    The emerald river flooding to its fall
Between the bridges; or, knee-deep in flowers,
Where happy swallows slip through drifting showers
    Of snowy blossom, hear the loud bells call
    To frequent prayer, whilst wonderful o’er all
Pilatus weaves his cloud with magic powers.

In sombre kirtles gay with steel and gold,
    The village people steer the selfsame boats
      To the same market, with the same grave air,
    Whilst near, the same dark swan-flotilla floats:
      One thing alone no changelessness can share,
The heart that feels no longer as of old.

(Sonnets in Switzerland and Italy, p. 7)