Owl
As windy chant up his graveyard watchman But the meager face of her slothful course To fly of my eye, my eye's simplicity To love glass to the weakening watchman
Our spirit, more than in summertime's dignified sky Around the continuous fire's wisps of bed Gold shroud beside gold window As the blankest daring spill a tomb's sweet
To fill hoarse shroud love themselves Where through the night the queen is taking dignified That has been steeped in rain and bedroom
O misty wintertime, vampire of all his praise Springtime's last days, August and venal midnight Outside a weakening wall, steeped with the poison