Public Domain Poetry And Stories - Whippoorwill Time by Madison Julius Cawein
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Whippoorwill Time

    By Madison Julius Cawein



    Let down the bars; drive in the cows:
    The west is barred with burning rose.
    Unhitch the horses from the ploughs,
    And from the cart the ox that lows,
    And light the lamp within the house:
    The whippoorwill is calling,
    "Whippoorwill, whippoorwill,"
    Where the locust blooms are falling
    On the hill;
    The sunset's rose is dying,
    And the whippoorwill is crying,
    "Whippoorwill, whippoorwill";
    Soft, now shrill,
    The whippoorwill is crying,
    "Whippoorwill."

    Unloose the watch-dog from his chain:
    The first stars wink their drowsy eyes:
    A sheep-bell tinkles in the lane,
    And where the shadow deepest lies
    A lamp makes bright the window-pane:
    The whippoorwill is calling,
    "Whippoorwill, whippoorwill,"
    Where the berry-blooms are falling
    On the rill;
    The first faint stars are springing,
    And the whippoorwill is singing,
    "Whippoorwill, whippoorwill";
    Softly still
    The whippoorwill is singing,
    "Whippoorwill."

    The cows are milked; the cattle fed;
    The last far streaks of evening fade:
    The farm-hand whistles in the shed,
    And in the house the table's laid;
    Its lamp streams on the garden-bed:
    The whippoorwill is calling,
    "Whippoorwill, whippoorwill,"
    Where the dogwood blooms are falling
    On the hill;
    The afterglow is waning
    And the whippoorwill's complaining,
    "Whippoorwill, whippoorwill";
    Wild and shrill,
    The whippoorwill's complaining,
    "Whippoorwill."

    The moon blooms out, a great white rose;
    The stars wheel onward toward the west:
    The barnyard-cock wakes once and crows;
    The farm is wrapped in peaceful rest;
    The cricket chirs; the firefly glows
    The whippoorwill is calling,
    "Whippoorwill, whippoorwill,"
    Where the bramble-blooms are falling
    On the rill;
    The moon her watch is keeping
    And the whippoorwill is weeping,
    "Whippoorwill, whippoorwill";
    Lonely still,
    The whippoorwill is weeping,
    "Whippoorwill."



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