How do I then to clutch me
At my heart, afeared?
The morrow? Nay,
The morrow but bringeth old loves
And hopes anew.
Ah, woe is me, ’tis emptiness, aye, naught—
The bottomlessness o’ the pit that doth afright!
Afeared? Aye, but driven fearless on!
What! Promise ye ’tis to mart I plod?
What! Promise ye new joys?