The Owl’d Yarn.
When the cats were home, and light was come,
And dew was cold upon the ground,
Outside a door, with stop bell dumb,
A whirring wheel has stopped its round.
A whirring wheel has stopped its round.
Alone and warming, by rubbing, his hands,
A “night-riding wheelist” shivering stands.
In vain he tries to “click the latch,”