The Meeting of Sighs

Your voice was the ruggedOld voice that I knew;I gave the best grip ofMy greeting to you.I knew not of your lips—You knew not of mine;Of travel and travailWe gave not a sigh.

We drank and we chorused,With quiqs in our eyes;But under our song wasThe meeting of sighs.I knew not of your lips—You knew not of mine;But lean years and lone yearsHad watered the wine.