The owls are quavering, two, now three,
And all the green is graying;
The owls our trysting dials be —
There is no time for staying.
I wait you where this buckeye throws
Its tumbled shadow over
Wood-violet and the bramble-rose,
Long lady-fern and clover.
Spice-seeded sassafras weighs deep
Rough rail and broken paling,
Where all day long the lizards sleep
Like lichen on the railing.
Behind you you will feel the moon's
Gold stealing like young laughter;
And mists — gray ghosts of picaroons —
Its phantom treasure after.
And here together, youth and youth,
Love will be doubly able;
Each be to each as true as truth,
And dear as fairy fable.
The owls are calling and the maize
With fallen dew is dripping —
Ah, girlhood, through the dewy haze
Come like a moonbeam slipping.