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!


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