From Milton town and out Broad Kill
I followed the wail of the whip-poor-will,
As it ran and shrieked in the twilight drowse,
Till it perched on the pales of a silent house,
Singing: “Whip-poor-will”
In the evening still,
“Whip willy and whip-poor-will!”

I came so close that the Nighthawk fled,
When at a window a lady said:
“How dead is the world when my bird is still
And the bull frogs croak at the whip-poor-will!
Friendly whip-poor-will,
How I love its trill!
‘Whip-willy’ or ‘whip-poor-will!’”

“Pray pardon me that I did so ill
As to frighten, Madama, the whip-poor-will!
I seemed to hear in its heart-broke plaint
My own heart grieve for my parted saint!
Mated whip-poor-will
Makes my eyes to fill:
‘Whip-willy’ or ‘whip-poor-will!’”

“Since my late Lord departed above
Only the song of that bird I love;
My husband comes to my window sill
And sobs with my soul, like the whip-poor-will.”
(Then the whip-poor-will
Made us both distill)
“Whip-willy” aye, “Whip-poor-will!”

“Far off on the marsh he is almost mute,
His wail dies low, like a funeral flute;
Let me come in; I may dry your tears,
You may take from my solitude its fears.
Let the whip-poor-will
Quiet down his quill—
“Whip-willy” and “Whip-poor-will!”

“How warm your hand! And has mine a chill?
A dove led me, though a whip-poor-will;
The mourning mate found somewhere a spouse,
His wail led me to your beautiful house:
Guiding whip-poor-will,
With a kiss in his bill!”
“Whip-willy” and “Whip-poor-will!”