152
THE GREAT WHITE OWL.
And once again, when the evening-red
Burned dimly in the west,
I saw him motionless, his head
Bent forward on his breast.
Burned dimly in the west,
I saw him motionless, his head
Bent forward on his breast.
Dark and still, 'gainst the sunset sky
Stood out his figure lone;
Crowning the bleak rock far and high,
By sad winds overblown.
Stood out his figure lone;
Crowning the bleak rock far and high,
By sad winds overblown.
Did he dream of the ice-fields, stark and drear?
Of his haunts on the Arctic shore?
Or the downy brood in his nest last year
On the coast of Labrador?
Of his haunts on the Arctic shore?
Or the downy brood in his nest last year
On the coast of Labrador?
Had he fluttered the Esquimaux huts among?
How I wished he could speak to me!
Had he sailed on the icebergs, rainbow-hung,
In the open Polar Sea?
How I wished he could speak to me!
Had he sailed on the icebergs, rainbow-hung,
In the open Polar Sea?
O many a tale he might have told
Of marvelous sounds and sights,
Where the world lies hopeless and dumb with cold,
Through desolate days and nights.
Of marvelous sounds and sights,
Where the world lies hopeless and dumb with cold,
Through desolate days and nights.
