Hath a spectral mastiff bitch;
To Saint Dunstan’s clock, tho’ silent enow,
She barketh her chorus of bow wow, wow:
Bow for the quarters, and wow for the hour;
Nought cares she for the sun or the shower;
But when, like a ghost all-arrayed in its shroud,
The wheels of the thunder are muffled in cloud,
When the moon, sole chandelier of night,
Bathes the blessed earth in light,
As wizard to wizard, or witch to witch,