In my heart the old love
Struggled with the new,
It was ghostly waking
All night through
Dear things, kind things
That my old love said,
Ranged themselves reproachfully
Round my bed.
But I could not heed them,
For I seemed to see
Dark eyes of new love
Fixed on me.
Old love, old love
How can I be true?
Shall I be faith less to myself
Or to you?

Sara Teasdale (1884-1933).