As I walked by myself, I talked to myself,
  And myself replied to me; 
And the questions myself then put to myself, 
  With their answers, I give to thee. 
Put them home to thyself and if unto thyself 
  Their responses the same should be, 
O look well to thyself, and beware of thyself, 
  Or so much the worse for thee. 

What are Riches? Hoarded treasures
  May indeed thy coffers fill;
Yet, like earth's most fleeting pleasures, 
  Leave thee poor and heartless still. 

What are Pleasures? When afforded,
  But by gauds which pass away, 
Read their fate in lines recorded 
  On the sea-sands yesterday.

What is Fashion? Ask of Folly, 
  She her worth can best express.
What is moping Melancholy?
  Go and learn of Idleness. 

What is Truth? Too stern a preacher
  For the prosperous and the gay;
But a safe and wholesome teacher 
  In adversity's dark day. 

What is Friendship? If well founded,
  Like some beacon's heavenward glow;
If on false pretensions grounded, 
  Like the treach'rous sands below.

What is Love? If earthly only, 
  Like a meteor of the night;
Shining but to leave more lonely 
  Hearts that hailed its transient light: 

But, when calm, refined, and tender,
  Purified from passion's stain,
Like the moon in gentle splendour,
  Ruling o'er the peaceful main.

What are Hopes, but gleams of brightness, 
  Glancing darkest clouds between? 
Or foam-crested waves whose whiteness 
  Gladdens ocean's darksome green. 

What are Fears? Grim phantoms, throwing 
  Shadows o'er the pilgrim's way,
Every moment darker growing, 
  If we yield unto their sway. 

What is Mirth? A flash of lightning 
  Followed but by deeper gloom. -- 
Patience? More than sunshine bright'ning 
  Sorrow's path and labour's doom. 

What is Time? A river flowing 
  To Eternity's vast sea,
Forward, whither all are going,
  On its bosom bearing thee.

What is Life? A bubble floating 
  On that silent, rapid stream 
Few, too few its progress noting 
  Till it bursts, and ends the dream. 

What is Death, asunder rending 
  Every tie we love so well? 
But the gate to life un-ending,
  Joy in heaven! or woe in hell! 

Can these truths, by repetition,
  Lose their magnitude or weight? 
Estimate thy own condition,
  Ere thou pass that fearful gate. 

Hast thou heard them oft repeated? 
  Much may still be left to do: 
Be not by profession cheated;
  LIVE -- as if thou knew'st them true! 

As I walked by myself, I talked to myself, 
  And myself replied to me: 
And the questions myself then put to myself, 
  With their answers, I've given to thee. 
Put them home to thyself, and if unto thyself
  Their responses the same should be,
O look well to thyself, and beware of thyself,
  Or so much the worse for thee.