Song—the Owl

When cats run home and light is come,

      And dew is cold upon the ground,

And the far-off stream is dumb,

      And the whirring sail goes round,

      And the whirring sail goes round;

            Alone and warming his five wits,

            The white owl in the belfry sits.

When merry milkmaids click the latch,

      And rarely smells the new-mown hay,

And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch

      Twice or thrice his roundelay.

      Twice or thrice his roundelay:

            Alone and warming his five wits,

            The white owl in the belfry sits.