midnight
We may as well get over the gate into the woody winding lane , which will bring us home again . Here we are making the best of our way between the old elms that arch so solemnly over head , dark and sheltered even now . They say that a spirit haunts this deep pool -- a white lady without a head . I can not say that I have seen her , often as I have paced this lane at deep midnight , to hear the nightingales , and look at the glow-worms ; -- but there , better and rarer than a thousand ghosts , dearer even than nightingales or glow-worms , there is a primrose , the first of the year ; a tuft of primroses , springing in yonder sheltered nook , from the mossy roots of an old willow , and living again in the clear bright pool . Oh , how beautiful they are -- three fully blown , and two bursting buds ! How glad I am I came this way ! They are not to be reached .