Her fancying Michael better touched my Lion's pride."
Mice flickered from the wainscot to the press,
Nibbling at crumbs, rattling to shelter, squeaking.
Each ticking in the clock's womb made life less;
Oil slowly dropped from where the lamp was leaking.
At times the old nurse set the staircase creaking,
Harked to the sleeper's breath, made sure, returned,
Answered the questioning eyes, then wept. The great stars burned.
"Listen," said Occleve, "listen, Rowland. Hark."
"It's Mary, come with Lion," answered Keir: