Goatsucker

Old goatherds swear how all night long they hear

The warning whirr and burring of the bird

Who wakes with darkness and till dawn works hard

Vampiring dry of milk each great goat udder.

Moon full, moon dark, the chary dairy farmer

Dreams that his fattest cattle dwindle, fevered

By claw-cuts of the Goatsucker, alias Devil-bird,

Its eye, flashlit, a chip of ruby fire.

So fables say the Goatsucker moves, masked from men's sight

In an ebony air, on wings of witch cloth,

Well-named, ill-famed a knavish fly-by-night,

Yet it never milked any goat, nor dealt cow death

And shadows only—cave-mouth bristle beset—

Cockchafers and the wan, green luna moth.