His death which happened in his berth, At forty-odd befell: They went and told the sexton, and The sexton tolled the bell. - Thomas Hood

Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied;
We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died.

No sun—no moon—no morn—no noon,
No dawn—no dusk—no proper time of day,
No warmth—no cheerfulness—no healthful ease,
No road, no street, no t' other side the way,
No comfortable feel in any member—
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
November!

Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old
To the very verge of the churchyard mould.