They have known each other so long, so long, That Owl and that Silence deep! The mosses and ferns to life belong; But they belong to sleep. They belong to the land behind all lands Where the greenest leaves look grey; Where the tree of the unknown sorrow stands Weeping its well-a-way!

For the Owl is old and Silence is old, And that tree is older yet! Its tears, malignant, drizzling, cold, Make their love-pillow wet! New moss, new ferns, the new spring brings; New primroses in death Are soothed by new moth-flutterings Of euthanasian breath;