This night, as I sit here alone, And brood on what is dead and gone, The owl that's in this Highgate Wood, Has found his fellow in my mood; To every star, as it doth rise - Oh-o-o! Oh-o-o! he shivering cries. And, looking at the Moon this night, There's that dark shadow in her light. Ah! Life and death, my fairest one, Thy lover is a skeleton! "And why is that?" I question - "why?" Oh-o-o! Oh-o-o! the owl doth cry.