Forty years back, when much had place <br />That since has perished out of mind, <br />I heard that voice and saw that face. <br /> <br />He spoke as one afoot will wind <br />A morning horn ere men awake; <br />His note was trenchant, turning kind. <br /> <br />He was one of those whose wit can shake <br />And riddle to the very core <br />The counterfiets that Time will break.... <br /> <br />Of late, when we two met once more, <br />The luminous countenance and rare <br />Shone just as forty years before. <br /> <br />So that, when now all tongues declare <br />His shape unseen by his green hill, <br />I scarce believe he sits not there. <br /> <br />No matter. Further and further still <br />Through the world's vaprous vitiate air <br />His words wing on--as live words will.<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/george-meredith/
