'T is true, you don't—but, pale and struck with terror,

Retire: but look into your past impression!

And you will find, though shuddering at the mirror

Of your own thoughts, in all their self-confession,

The lurking bias,[705] be it truth or error,

To the unknown; a secret prepossession,

To plunge with all your fears—but where? You know not,

And that's the reason why you do—or do not.