I hear the little Owl shriek
Along the windless ways,
As if its inhuman soul were fain to seek
The heart of the mystery of its days;
And as I hear the beat of its wings
That shriek to mine own Spirit clings.
It shrieks as the moon's shadow sways
Over the shaken grass,
And something Strange in the Owl's soul sighs Alas
And God, I think, before the heavens scowl
Blesses the little night Owl.
