Night claims its fee and takes to it the land,
And shadows lengthen; dusk on either hand
Makes dark spots darker! Up to bed I creep
And in the candle-light prepare for sleep.
But it is left thee, Jackdaw, to invite
What sleep there waits for me in bed to-night;
What wakeful hours watch me blow out the light,
List’ning to thy clear-throated chattering
When thou, with full persistency doth choose
To let thy loud and raucous tongue run loose
At Mrs. Jackdaw in the chimney flues.
When thou’rt not cross then thou art flattering!
But some nights I feel sleepless, then to thee
I listen, – and thou’rt mute! Oh contrary!