1
All the phantoms of the future, all the spectres of the past,
In the wakeful night came round me sighing, crying, "Fool, beware!
Check the feeling o'er thee stealing! Let thy first love be thy last!
Or, if love again thou must, at least this fatal love forbear!"
           ... 
 
                            2
Now the dark breaks. Now the lark wakes. Now those voices fleet away.
And the breeze about the blossom, and the ripple on the reed,
And the beams, and buds, and birds begin to whisper, sing, or say,
"Love her, love her, for she loves thee!" And I know not which to heed.
           ...