This Night

This night, as I sit here alone,

And brood on what is dead and gone,

The owl that’s in this Highgate Wood,

Has found his fellow in my mood;

To every star, as it doth rise—

Oh-o-o! Oh-o-o! he shivering cries.

And, looking at the Moon this night,

There’s that dark shadow in her light,

Ah! Life and Death, my fairest one,

Thy lover is a skeleton!

“And why is that?” I question—“why?”

Oh-o-o! Oh-o-o! the owl doth cry.