Classic Poem

Complaining bird, that sing'st at eve
When all around is calm and still —
Why wilt thou make my spirit grieve,
And bid me " Whip poor Will! "
What has poor Willy done, that he
Should be the burden of thy song,
As, sitting on yon old oak tree,
Thou chauntest all night long —
" Whip poor Will! "

I whipped him once, but ah! in vain;
From copse and wood, from glen and hill,
That oft-repeated solemn strain
Still bids me " Whip poor Will. "
And though the little fellow screamed
For being whipped he knew not why —
Till on yon heavens the starlight gleamed,
There came that mournful cry —
" Whip poor Will! "

On other themes, oh lonesome bird!
Employ thy deep, melodious bill,
And let me hear some other word,
And not " Will " — " Whip poor Will. "
For William is a pleasant boy,
A merry-hearted, lovely one —
His father's pride, his mother's joy;
Why must I whip my son? —
" Whip poor Will! "

What! never done! wilt always sing?
Can no persuasion keep thee still?
Has thy small harp no other string,
Beside that " Whip poor Will " ?
'Tis even so — 'tis mine own thought,
And not thy note, does Willy wrong:
Then sing away — with sweetness fraught —
Sing that complaining, constant song —
" Whip poor Will! "