 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
251
THE OWL
When the winds overhead were sweeping,
And the whole loud woodland was astir,
You were perched, like a weary hermit, sleeping
In a dark tangled fork of the fir.
And the whole loud woodland was astir,
You were perched, like a weary hermit, sleeping
In a dark tangled fork of the fir.
But at last when the tired wind was winging
To the edge of the smouldering light,
Your laughter, wild and horrible, came ringing
And sent a sudden chill through the night.
To the edge of the smouldering light,
Your laughter, wild and horrible, came ringing
And sent a sudden chill through the night.
You laughed, demoniacally dreaming
Of the rush of the startled mouse,
When you with your grey wing gleaming
Sweep low o'er his heathery house.
Of the rush of the startled mouse,
When you with your grey wing gleaming
Sweep low o'er his heathery house.
And quiet woodland things without number,
Who were couched in bracken and in brake,
Shivered chill, on the edge of slumber,
At the thought of a wicked thing awake.
Who were couched in bracken and in brake,
Shivered chill, on the edge of slumber,
At the thought of a wicked thing awake.
Thrice you turned your hornèd head in the shadow,
And blinked with impenetrable eyes,
Then out over copse and misty meadow
You swept under shrouded skies.
And blinked with impenetrable eyes,
Then out over copse and misty meadow
You swept under shrouded skies.
252
The bell beat one in the village,
With the firelight red in the room,
As you came and went, to slay and to pillage,
With your soft wing flapping in the gloom.
With the firelight red in the room,
As you came and went, to slay and to pillage,
With your soft wing flapping in the gloom.
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |