When Cats Run Home And Light Is Come, And Dew Is Cold Upon The Ground, And The Far-Off Stream Is Dumb, And The Whirring Sail Goes Round, And The Whirring Sail Goes Round; Alone And Warming His Five Wits, The White Owl In The Belfry Sits. When Merry Milkmaids Click The Latch, And Rarely Smells The New-Mown Hay, And The Cock Hath Sung Beneath The Thatch Twice Or Thrice His Roundelay, Twice Or Thrice His Roundelay; Alone And Warming His Five Wits, The White Owl In The Belfry Sits.