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This is midnight, all slept indeed,
  The factory bells do chime,
Ding-dong dong, thrice the sounds arise
  From yonder darkling clime.
No one is there, two faint lamps glare,
  Who rang the rusty bell?
It must be three, a shade does flee
  In earshot of the knell.
Upon my eave the pigeons live,
  One flutters tender wings,
It heard a whiz as soft as grease,
   And to the wall it clings.
There is a grange, a mansion old,
  Deserted since the yore,
Such creatures as with deep black fur,
  Hold sway around its floor.
No iron melts on fire these days,
  The blacksmiths all have left,
And all day long a thrush her song
  Attunes to good effect.
She quavers in her leafy nest,
  The pale shades pass again,
The rumbling sky does well deny
  A sound sleep while she's lain.
Mine eyes are closed yet well awake,
  The pattering distant rain
Revives the tendrils grown unsought,
   An omen of the bane.
My windows smeared with mizzle mist,
  That dreamy opaque layer,
Obtrudes my view with chilly dew,
  A fancied world lays bare.
"Don't be afraid", a voice just said,
  A whisper grim and grave,
As from a king or ancient sage,
  Conquerer of the knave.
That moment my door shook its hinge,
   Something had wrenched its knobs,
The bats beseech with a sudden screech,
   And fill my home with sobs.
A pain of olden times deludes, 
  My grandsire died this day,
A tremor stirs after these years,
  Benumbed and dozed I lay.
The dawn has worn her purple gown,
  It's four, the chimes sojourn,
Her mellow light dissolves my night
  Into a canny morn.

28th September, 2021

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