Crowded its mart of motion, fear-begot,
Thither to escape. Then from the Phantom chill
Upon the palpitant air these measures dripped
In numbers ill.
“Mortal, be not deceived!
Despise these cloying measures, they are false!
Withhold imagination from the calls
Of sensuous privilege. Straightway be cleaved
Thence, and away! And hearken now to me.
Heed these rare strictures! Prize not thy frail self: