SWAMP-OWL
A brooding pond in the hush of dusk,
As black as the pools of night;
Rimmed round with spires of somber spruce,—
Gaunt ghosts in the phantom light.
As black as the pools of night;
Rimmed round with spires of somber spruce,—
Gaunt ghosts in the phantom light.
A beating of heavy wings tn the dark;
A rush from the dismal glen;
A sudden swoop, and the leaden wings
Went beating back again.
A rush from the dismal glen;
A sudden swoop, and the leaden wings
Went beating back again.
In the utter gloom of that sunken land,
Never a creature stirred,
As night beat into the sullen swamp
With the wings of that ghostly bird.
Never a creature stirred,
As night beat into the sullen swamp
With the wings of that ghostly bird.
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