Atte nyte
They walke
Ye did not noe
That they could goe
They talke
And nod theyr Grizl'd Heads
Leave theyr Mossie Beds
To whisper antient Lore
While the Moone flees from the Shore
And Darknesse reigns as afore.
They maun't be seene
By Mortal Eie
'Tis Death to spie
But when the Sunne
Hath his Race begun
They Silent fale
Stand stille and tall
Agaynst the Skie
None noweth why
Their Secrets they doe keepe
When we waxe wide awake
They
Slepe.
Barbara Tomlinson
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