I am not alone in the room;
A bright intelligence
Watches the fire in the gloom
Of Winter's imminence;
Watches, and waits for the hour
When something worthy to do
Shall make its every power
Alert, vivid and new;
When out of a darker lair 
In the hidden haunts of the house
There shall glide into the open air
For a single moment a mouse;
When the still chirp of a bird,
In ears that are veiled in fur,
Even in sleep is heard,
As the lithe muscles stir.
It knows the way of the night,
What wanders and at what hours:
Scents tell it, and sight,
And a knowledge older than ours.
When the day is gone with his wrath,
And the night is hushed, it will roam.
As the needle points to the North,
So it turns towards home.
Wisdom it has from of yore
Touching all things that concern it,
And all that I know of its lore
Is that I shall never learn it.
by Lord Dunsany