The Owl

 DOWNHILL I came, hungry, and yet not starved, 
Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof 
Against the north wind; tired, yet so that rest 
Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.


Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest, 
Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.
 
All of the night was quite barred out except 
An owl's cry, a most melancholy cry.


Shaken out long and clear upon the hill 
No merry note, nor cause of merriment, 
But one telling me plain what I escaped 
And others could not, that night, as in I went.


And salted was my food, and my repose, 
Salted and sobered too, by the bird's voice 
Speaking for all who lay under the stars, 
Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.

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