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In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: Part 092 by Alfred Lord Tennyson


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.