Whippoorwill Time 



By Madison Cawein 



Let down the bars ; drive in the cows ; 



The west is dyed 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, 



"Whip-poor-will ; whip-poor-will," 

 Where the locust blooms are falling 



On the hill: 

 The sunset's rose is dying, 

 And the whippoorwill is crying, 



"Whip-poor-will ; whip-poor-will ;" 

 Soft, now shrill, 

 The whippoorwill is crying 

 "Whip-poor-will." 



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 kitchen pane. 

 The whippoorwill is calling, 



"Whip-poor-will ; whip-poor-will," 

 Where the berry-blooms are falling 



On the rill: 

 The first faint stars are springing, 

 And the whippoorwill is singing, 



"Whip-poor-will ; whip-poor-will ;" 

 Softly still 

 The whippoorwill is singing, 

 "Whip-poor-will." 



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; 

 The lamp streams on the garden-bed. 



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