In some unstudied span of sky
Where evening’s clouds had sprung
Around the bloated moon-orb
That all too drunken hung,
Came in a burst a sudden-noted thrill:

Whippoorwill, whippoorwill!

There, upon the windswept mound,
We harked the mystery song:
A fine-wrought mesh of silver
Whose keen vibrations strung
On, long after the long passage had been rung:

Whippoorwill, whippoorwill, whippoorwill!

At this, tall meadow blossoms
Appeared to rise, intent—
Inclining towards that calling,
To that wild tuning bent—
Out of nowhere, pealing long, then back to nowhere sent:

Whippoorwill, whippoorwill!