  Hark! I hear the voice again, Softly now and low, When the twilight's o'er the plain And the first stars glow. This is what it uttereth— In a rather mournful breath— "Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will!" What has Will been doing now? Has he truant played With a sad, coquettish brow From some simple maid? Did he steal her heart away? For I hear you always say "Whip-poor Will! Whip-poor Will!" Tell me now what Will has done. Who's to whip him, dear? Is he some scamp full of fun That is straying near? Have you caught him at your nest By the ones you love the best? "Whip-poor-Will! Whip-poor-Will!" That is all you seem to say, Little bird so shy. Tell me now, without delay, Why whip Will, oh! why? There! your voice fades in the lea— Leaving this command to me, "Whip-poor-Will! Whip-poor-Will!" —Monroe H. Rosenfeld. |
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