As with a Fury’s burden brims,
And will not own the lyre.
I fear, I fear: the bold-faced Hope
Hath left my heart all drear;
And my thought, not idly tossed within,
Feels evil creeping near.
For the heart hath scent of things to come
And prophesies by fear;
And yet I pray, may all conspire
To prove my boding heart a liar,