Two terrors fright my soul by night and day: br The first is Life, and with her come the years; br A weary, winding train of maidens they, br With forward-fronting eyes, too sad for tears; br Upon whose kindred faces, blank and grey, br The shadow of a kindred woe appears. br Death is the second terror; who shall say br What form beneath the shrouding mantle nears? br br Which way she turn, my soul finds no relief, br My smitten soul may not be comforted; br Alternately she swings from grief to grief, br And, poised between them, sways from dread to dread. br For there she dreads because she knows; and here, br Because she knows not, only faints with fear.