Canto XC

If any vision should reveal

      Thy likeness, I might count it vain

      As but the canker of the brain;

Yea, though 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.