If any vision should reveal
      Thy likeness, I might count it vain
      As but the canker of the brain;
Yea, tho' it spake and made appeal

To chances where our lots were cast
      Together in the days behind,
      I might but say, I hear a wind
Of memory murmuring the past.

Yea, tho' it spake and bared to view
      A fact within the coming year;
      And tho' the months, revolving near,
Should prove the phantom-warning true,

They might not seem thy prophecies,
      But spiritual presentiments,
      And such refraction of events
As often rises ere they rise.


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Last modified 16 February 2010