Larks

"The year's at the spring And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hillside's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn; God's in his heaven-- All's right with the world!"

"Here of a Sunday morning My love and I would lie, And see the coloured counties, And hear the larks so high About us in the sky."

"There was an Old Man with a beard, Who said, "It is just as I feared! -- Two Owls and a Hen, four Larks and a Wren, Have all built their nests in my beard."

"Skylark, Have you seen a valley green with Spring Where my heart can go a-journeying, Over the shadows in the rain To a blossom covered lane? And in your lonely flight, Haven't you heard the music in the night, Wonderful music, Faint as a will-o-the-wisp, Crazy as a loon, Sad as a gypsy serenading the moon."

"Hark, hark! the lark On windswept bark Freezes against a sky of lead! Now see him stop, Take one small hop, And suddenly keel over dead!"

"Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate"

"KING RICHARD II Down, down I come; like glistering Phaethon, Wanting the manage of unruly jades. In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base, To come at traitors' calls and do them grace. In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, king! For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing."

"Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise,"

"The music soars within the little lark, And the lark soars."

"Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining."

"The merry lark he soars on high, No worldly thought o'ertakes him. He sings aloud to the clear blue sky, And the daylight that awakes him."

"The lark now leaves his watery nest, And climbing, shakes his dewy wings. He takes your window for the East And to implore your light he sings."

"The pretty Lark, climbing the Welkin cleer, Chaunts with a cheer, Heer peer—I neer my Deer; Then stooping thence (seeming her fall to rew) Adieu (she saith) adieu, deer Deer, adieu."

"Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! Then, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place— O, to abide in the desert with thee!"

"Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed."

"None but the lark so shrill and clear; Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings, The morn not waking till she sings."

"To hear the lark begin his flight, And singing startle the dull Night, From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled dawn doth rise."

"And now the herald lark Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry The morn's approach, and greet her with his song."

"The bird that soars on highest wing, Builds on the ground her lowly nest; And she that doth most sweetly sing, Sings in the shade when all things rest: In lark and nightingale we see What honor hath humility."

"I said to the sky-poised Lark: "Hark—hark! Thy note is more loud and free Because there lies safe for thee A little nest on the ground.""

"No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings, Shall, list'ning, in mid-air suspend their wings."

"The sunrise wakes the lark to sing."

"O happy skylark springing Up to the broad, blue sky, Too fearless in thy winging, Too gladsome in thy singing, Thou also soon shalt lie Where no sweet notes are ringing."

"Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting."

"Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phœbus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chalic'd flowers that lies. And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes; With everything that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise!"

"Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time."

"It was the lark, the herald of the morn."

"It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps."

"Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast The sun ariseth in his majesty."

"Hail to thee blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art."

"Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!"

"Up springs the lark, Shrill-voiced, and loud, the messenger of morn; Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts Calls up the tuneful nations."

"The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build Her humble nest, lies silent in the field."

"Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still!"

"Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; A privacy of glorious light is thine: Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine: Type of the wise who soar, but never roam: True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!"