A Voice on the Wind

wind sounds and sighs;
Then in the woods again it cries,

The owlet cries;
A shivering voice that calls in fright,

In maundering fright:

"Who is it, who is it, who?
Who walks with a shuffling shoe,

'Mid the gusty trees, With a face none sees, And a form as ghostly too? Who, who, who!

Who is it, who is it, who?"

III

When midnight leans a listening ear

And tinkles on her insect lutes;
When 'mid the roots the cricket flutes,
And marsh and mere, now far, now near,

A jack-o'-lantern foots;
Then o'er the pool again it hoots,

The owlet hoots;
A voice that shivers as with fear,

That cries in fear:

"Who is it, who is it, who?
Who creeps with his glow-worm crew

Above the mire With a corpse-light fire, As only dead men do? Who, who, who!

Who is it, who is it, who?"