The Loon

Was never thing,

With leg or wing,

That could my ditty croon;

By mine emerald head,

By mine eye-ball red,

There 's devil in the egg of the loon.

To myself I mutter;

The pale leaves flutter,

The lake lifts not a wave;

I laugh! — a blast

Like the trump at last,

When the men-things jump from the grave.

Ha, ha! Ho, ho!

The black winds know;

The sun is blown to a blot.

The storm winds meet,

They blacken and beat;

The shore and the sky are not.

Ha, ha! Ho, ho!

The winds play so

With the Lord of the Lake alone.

The raving rout,

They shriek and shout;

The demon's laugh is mine own.

The wild winds rake,

They pile the lake;

Ha, ha! His brain is chaff,

The mad-cap loon,

They hatch i' the moon —

Ha, ha! I laugh and I laugh.