I When Dusk Is Drowned In Drowsy Dreams, And Slow The Hues Of Sunset Die; When Firefly And Moth Go By, And In Still Streams The New Moon Seems Another Moon And Sky: Then From The Hills There Comes A Cry, The Owlet'S Cry: A Shivering Voice That Sobs And Screams, With Terror Screams: - "Who Is It, Who Is It, Who-O-O? Who Rides Through The Dusk And Dew, With A Pair Of Horns, As Thin As Thorns, And Face A Bubble-Blue? - Who, Who, Who! Who Is It, Who Is It, Who-O-O?" Ii When Night Has Dulled The Lily'S White, And Opened Wide The Moonflower'S Eyes; When Pale Mists Rise And Veil The Skies, And Round The Height In Whispering Flight The Night-Wind Sounds And Sighs: Then In The Wood Again It Cries, The Owlet Cries: A Shivering Voice That Calls In Fright, In Maundering Fright: - "Who Is It, Who Is It, Who-O-O? Who Walks With A Shuffling Shoe 'Mid The Gusty Trees, With A Face None Sees, And A Form As Ghostly, Too? - Who, Who, Who! Who Is It, Who Is It, Who-O-O?" Iii When Midnight Leans A Listening Ear And Tinkles On Her Insect Lutes; When 'Mid The Roots The Cricket Flutes, And Marsh And Mere, Now Far, Now Near, A Jack-O'-Lantern Foots: Then O'Er The Pool Again It Hoots, The Owlet Hoots: A Voice That Shivers As With Fear, That Cries With Fear: - "Who Is It, Who Is It, Who-O-O? Who Creeps With His Glowworm Crew Above The Mire With A Corpse-Light Fire, As Only Dead Men Do? - Who, Who, Who! Who Is It, Who Is It, Who-O-O?"