XIX.

The large white owl that with age is blind, That hath sate for years in the old tree hollow, Is carried away in a gust of wind; His wings could beat him not as fast As he goeth now the lattice past; He is borne by the winds, the rains do follow His white wings to the blast outflowing, He hooteth in going, And still, in the lightnings, coldly glitter His round unblinking eyes