The Owl

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;

Cold, yet had heat within me that was

Against the North wind; tired, yet so that

Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.

Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,

Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.

All of the night was quite barred out

An owl's cry, a most melancholy

Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,

No merry note, nor cause of merriment,

But one telling me plain what I

And others could not, that night, as in I went.

And salted was my food, and my repose,

Salted and sobered, too, by the bird's

Speaking for all who lay under the stars,

Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.