Whippoorwill Poem

When over farm and field are thrown,

The twilight's mantled shades,

When silence brooding sits along

Among the forest glades,

Like some lone spirit's misty calls

Along the dusk an echo falls

Of "Whippoorwill, poorwill, poorwill!"

That floats o'er forest, field and hill —

"Whippoorwill, poorwill!"

 

The silent stars like sentries seem

To watch the world below,

And deeper over wood and stream

The dusky shadows grow,

And on the night-winds, drifting by

There comes a weird and mournful cry

of "Whippoorwill, poorwill, poorwill!"

And through the dusk the echoes thrill

"Whippoorwill, poorwill!"

July 26, 1884. Whippoorwill. Washington D.C. Bee 3(8): 1. From the Current.