|C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.|
| The moan of the whip-poor-will from the hillside; the boding cry of the tree-toad, that harbinger of storm; the dreary hooting of the screechowl.|
| ||Where deep and misty shadows float|
|In forests depths is heard thy note.|
|Like a lost spirit, earthbound still,|
|Art thou, mysterious whip-poor-will.|
Marie Le Baron.
| ||But the whip-poor-will wails on the moor,|
| And day has deserted the west:|
|The moon glimmers down thro the vines at my door|
| And the robin has flown to her nest.|
James G. Clarke.