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 The eyes of my new love Fixed on me. Old love, old love, How can I be true? Shall I be faithless to myself Or to you?
Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; New Year's Dawn - Broadway