A hundred years, I know, have been deferr'd
Since last we met, and then it was in dearth
Of gladsome peace; for, in a moment's girth,
My shuddering soul was wounded like a bird.
XV.
I knew thy voice. I knew the veering sound
Of that sweet oracle which once did tend
To treat me grandly, as we treat a friend;
And I would know't if darkly underground