An Owl Took, In A Barn, A Station As Fittest For Deep Contemplation; There (Like A Turk) Upon A Beam He Sat, As Turks Sit In Hareem. So Smokers, At The Magpie Met, Peruse The 'Post-Boy' Or 'Gazette;' And Thence Foretell, In Wise And Sure Hope, The Future Destinies Of Europe. The Farmer Comes To See His Sheaves. The Owl His Silent Soul Relieves; "Reason In Man Is Sheer Pretence, Would He - Were He Endowed With Sense - Treat Owls With Scorning? He Can Praise The Birds That Twitter On The Sprays: Linnets, And Larks, And Nightingales, Yet In The Nobler Owl He Fails. Should I, By Daylight, View My Reign, Those Birds Would Cluster In My Train; Why Do They Pounce Upon The Wing, Save That They See And Own Their King?" "Pshaw!" Said The Farmer: "Lump Of Pride! They Only Follow To Deride; Your Scream Affrights The Evening Hour, When Nightingales Enchant The Bower. Why All On Earth - Man, Beast, And Fowl - Know You For What You Are - An Owl. You And Your Train! 'Midst Nature'S Rules, Fools In Derision Follow Fools!"