chances where our lots were cast
Together in the days behind,
I might but say, I hear a wind
Of memory murmuring the past.
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,
might not seem thy prophecies,
But spiritual presentiments,
And such refraction of events
As often rises ere they rise.