A black pall, a freezing blast,
An unbroken path—and thou
Wouldst have me then to prate o’ Spring,
And pluck a bud where dark doth hide the bush!
Who cometh from the thicket higher there?
Phantom:
’Tis Doubt to meet thee, friend!
Dreamer:
Who art thou? I fain would flee,
And yet I fear to leave lest I be lost.