These mixing ’mong the shadows dark,
Rip off the crackling, staining bark;
Depriving yearly, when they come,
The green woodpecker of his home;
Who early in the Spring began,
Far from the sight of troubling man,
To bore his round holes in each tree,
In fancy’s sweet security;
Now startled by the woodman’s noise,
He wakes from all his dreamy joys.