When din of day for mortals softly ends And down on the mute city squares The half-transparent shade of night descends With slumber, balm of daylong cares, Then, in the still for me the hours bring Exhausting sleepless pains anew. Searing in blank of night, the serpent's sting Venoms my heart with acid rue. Black fancies seethe, and floods of anguish blast The corners of my burdened soul; Without a sound, remembrance of things past Unwinds to me her lengthy scroll. Then reading with disgust the writ of years I tremble, damn my every day, Bawl bitter plaints, and bitterly shed tears But wipe not one sad line away.