And, as it strikes, a thought revealed
Taps at my quivering brain.
The “peas and pork” bird in the air—
The solemn whip-poor-will—
Both thoughts of quaintest mystery bear
From off yon shadowed hill.
A silk-worm moth, with purple “eyes”
Upon its nether wings,
Around the lighted window flies,
Or to the casement clings.