They Hear The Bell Of Midnight Toll, And Shiver In Their Flesh And Soul; They Lie On Hard, Cold Wood Or Stone, Iron, And Ache In Every Bone; They Hate The Night: They See No Eyes Of Loved Ones In The Starlit Skies. They See The Cold, Dark Water Near; They Dare Not Take Long Looks For Fear They'll Fall Like Those Poor Birds That See A Snake'S Eyes Staring At Their Tree. Some Of Them Laugh, Half-Mad; And Some All Through The Chilly Night Are Dumb; Like Poor, Weak Infants Some Converse, And Cough Like Giants, Deep And Hoarse.