Old goatherds swear how all night long they
The warning whirr and burring of the
Who wakes with darkness and till dawn works
Vampiring dry of milk each great goat udder.
Moon full, moon dark, the chary dairy
Dreams that his fattest cattle dwindle,
By claw-cuts of the Goatsucker, alias Devil-bird,
Its eye, flashlit, a chip of ruby fire.
So fables say the Goatsucker moves, masked from men's
In an ebony air, on wings of witch cloth,
Well-named, ill-famed a knavish fly-by-night,
Yet it never milked any goat, nor dealt cow
And shadows only—cave-mouth bristle beset—Cockchafers and the wan, green luna moth.
