Here? That Shall I Not Recall, Because I'd Rather It Should Be Forgot, 'Shadows The Soul Of Richard' May Appal. In Short, Upon That Subject I 've Some Qualms Very Like Those Of The Philosopher Of Malmsbury. The Night (I Sing By Night - Sometimes An Owl, And Now And Then A Nightingale) Is Dim, And The Loud Shriek Of Sage Minerva'S Fowl Rattles Around Me Her Discordant Hymn: Old Portraits From Old Walls Upon Me Scowl - I Wish To Heaven They Would Not Look So Grim; The Dying Embers Dwindle In The Grate - I Think Too That I Have Sate Up Too Late: And Therefore, Though 'T Is By No Means My Way To Rhyme At Noon - When I Have Other Things To Think Of, If I Ever Think - I Say I Feel Some Chilly Midnight Shudderings, And Prudently Postpone, Until Mid-Day, Treating A Topic Which, Alas! But Brings Shadows; - But You Must Be In My Condition Before You Learn To Call This Superstition.