When the pale moon rises above the sea,
The owl flies out of the ivy tree,
And the small birds quiver, the little mice quake,
As he goes his way by the wood and lake,
And his odd notes echo the farmyard through---
That weird old cry --- ''Tu--whit--tu--whoo!''
The light is dim in the fields and lanes,
As the children peep through the windowspanes,
When the notes ring out is the silent night,
As the owl gose by with his noiseless flight,
And the cheeky sparrows go home to bed,
When ''Tu--whit--tu--whoo'' sounds overhead.
M.E. Sargent