The Meeting of Sighs

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 sigh.

We drank and we chorused,
 * With quiqs in our eyes;

But under our song was
 * The meeting of sighs.

I knew not of your lips—
 * You knew not of mine;

But lean years and lone years
 * Had watered the wine.