The Meeting Of Sighs

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YOUR voice was the rugged 
  old voice that I knew; 
I gave the best grip of 
  my greeting to you. 
I knew not of your lips— 
  you knew not of mine; 
Of travel and travail 
  we gave not a sign. 

We drank and we chorused 
  with quips in our eyes; 
But under our song was 
  the meeting of sighs. 
I knew not of your lips— 
  you knew not of mine; 
For lean years and lone years 
  had watered the wine.

© John Shaw Neilson