Photo from life by C. A. Smith. 



THE OWL. 



By Mary Laveena Harvey. 



In sunless woods, 

 Where prowlers prowl, 

 There dwells a solemn visaged fowl 

 Which men are pleased to call. 

 The Owl. 



And, when you pass his woodland through, 

 With round dim eyes he stares at you, 

 Inquiring boldly, 



"Who?" 



Though oft you tell him what's your name. 

 He ask his question just the same — 

 He frights and chills you through and through, 

 Inquiring boldly, 



"Who?" 



