midnight
Lord William lies there , care-worn and pale , All his sunlight of spirit has passed away , And left to him only that twilight of grey Which ushers men into the long dark vale ; Fast ebbing his life , yet feeling no pain , Save a memory working within his brain . He had sought the world 's crowd for forty years , But only a little relief to borrow From the heartfelt pangs of that early sorrow Which had drawn him away from his gay compeers , And made him oft sigh , with a pain-begot scorn , That into this world he ever was born . But being brought in , as a victim , to tarry , With him , as with all , it is how to get out With no more of pain than you ca n't go without , Where all have original sin to carry ; But his memory brightened , as strength waxed low , Of the grief he had borne forty years ago . There is silence and sadness in Allerley Tower ; The taper is glimmering with murky snot , The raven croak-croaking with rusty throat , And the cricket click-clicking at midnight hour ; And the woman mope-moping by the bed , Still nodding and nodding her drowsy head . `` Now bring me , old nurse , from that escritoire , A packet tied up with a ribbon of blue ; '' Ah ! well , though now faded , that ribbon he knew , Which his fingers had bound forty years before . He shuddered to look , yet afraid to wait , Lest Death might render his vision too late .