Beyond the inmost barriers of the brain,
Hid by the tree of thought's most silent bough,
While suns and moons of mood arise and wane,
Patience, the owl, considers wisdom now.
Her dark twin-closing eyes in safety keep
The present and the past, and for the rest
Shadow and silence blend themselves with sleep,
Nestled against the oval of her breast.
Still motionless she ages, growing wise,
And day by day dreams on and never stirs;
Nor till the last leaf falls before her eyes,
And the bare winter ends that peace of hers,
Will she burst up into the startled night,
Wailing, on wings widespread for sudden flight