Classic Poem

Winter is here
And there are no leaves
On the naked trees,
Save stars twinkling
As the wind blows.
Soft to the branches
The little screech-owl
Silently comes,
Silently goes,
With weird tremolos.

I would go out
And gather the stars
The wind shakes down,
Were they not scattered
So far in the West.
I would go ask
The little screech-owl
If he finds ease
There in his nest
After his quest.

I would go learn
If the small grey mouse
Who sets up house
In the frozen meadow
Dreams of the stars;
Or what he thinks
There in the dark
When flake on flake
Of white snow bars
Him in with its spars.

I would go out
And learn these things
That I may know
What dream or desire
Troubles my brothers
In nest or hole,
For even as I,
The owl and the mouse,
Or blinded mole
With unborn soul,
May have some goal.