'Is there anybody there?'said theTraveller, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grasses Of the forest's ferny floor.
Yet, all beneath the unrivall'd rose, The lowly daisy sweetly blows; Tho' large the forest's monarch throws His army shade, Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, Adown the glade.Robert Burns
Where deep and misty shadows float In forest's depths is heard thy note. Like a lost spirit, earthbound still, Art thou, mysterious whip-poor-will.