The moon went under a ragged cloud,
The owl cried out of the ruined wall,
Slow and solemn, distinct and loud,
His melancholy call:
Tu-whit, tu-whit, tu-whoo!
Like a creature in a shroud.
Across the night in a silver chain,
While a lonesome wind arose and died,
Slow stepped the ghostly feet of the rain;
The owl from the wall replied:
Tu-whit, tu-whoo, hoo-hoo'
With a peal of goblin laughter,
And silence fell thereafter.
Weird fingers of the wandering rain,
Reaching out of the hollow dark,
Paused and tapped at my window-pane,—
A muffled voice cried, Hark!
Tu-whit, tu-whit, tu-whoo!
The moon is drowned in the dark,
And the world belongs to me and you!