"Do you not hear the aziola cry?
Methinks she must be nigh--'
Said Mary as we sate
In dusk, ere stars were lit or candles brought--
And I who thought
This Aziola was some tedious woman
Asked, "Who is Aziola?'--how elate
I felt to know that it was nothing human,
No mockery of myself to fear or hate!
And Mary saw my soul,
And laughed and said--"Disquiet yourself not,
'Tis nothing but a little downy owl.'
Sad aziola, many an eventide
Thy music I had heard
By wood and stream, meadow and mountainside,
And fields and marshes wide,
Such as nor voice, nor lute, nor wind, nor bird
The soul ever stirred--
Unlike and far sweeter than them all.
Sad aziola, from that moment I
Loved thee and thy sad cry.