A plaintive prayer, and creaks and creaks;
The bat, like some wing'd elfin, veers
Beneath the sunset's streaks.
The caterpillar gnaws the leaf;
The mottled toad croaks drowsily;
And then the owl, like some dark grief,
Cries in the old beech-tree.
At night the blistering dew comes down
And lies as white as autumn frost
Upon the green, upon the brown—