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This Night

 This night, as I sit here alone,
And brood on what is dead and gone,
The owl that's in this Highgate Wood,
Has found his fellow in my mood;
To every star, as it doth rise -
Oh-o-o! Oh-o-o! he shivering cries.
And, looking at the Moon this night, There's that dark shadow in her light.
Ah! Life and death, my fairest one, Thy lover is a skeleton! "And why is that?" I question - "why?" Oh-o-o! Oh-o-o! the owl doth cry.

by William Henry Davies
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