Owl

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My aunt's a hollow
In a half-dead tree,
Whose strangling ivy
Shields and shelters me.

But when dark's starlight
Thrids my green domain,
My plumage trembles and stirs,
I wake again:

A spectral moon
Silvers the world I see;
Out of their daylong lairs
Creep thievishly.

Night's living things
. Then I,
Wafted away on soundless pinions
Fly;
Curdling her arches
With my hunting-cry:
A-hooh! a-hooh:
Four notes; and then,
Solemn, sepulchral, cold,
Four notes again,
The listening dingles
Of my woodland through:
A-hooh! A-hooh!
A-hooh!

The Owl; Poem by Walter De La Mare.

Reference:

McClatchy, J.D. (Ed.) On Wings of Song, Poems About Birds: New York, Everyman's Library, 2000.