Quotes about lark, page 14
Hark! Hark! The Lark
Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus '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:
Arise, arise!
poem by William Shakespeare
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The Nightingale Has A Lyre Of Gold
The nightingale has a lyre of gold,
The lark's is a clarion-call,
And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute,
But I love him best of all.
For his song is all of the joy of life,
And we in the mad, spring weather,
We two have listened till he sang
Our hearts and lips together.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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A Violinist
THE LARK above our heads doth know
A heaven we see not here below;
She sees it, and for joy she sings;
Then falls with ineffectual wings.
Ah, soaring soul! faint not nor tire!
Each heaven attained reveals a higher.
Thy thought is of thy failure; we
List raptured, and thank God for thee.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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Life By Birds
At her birth, the morning lark
fan-tailed light and thrushed through dark.
As she grew, the sparrow's song
lofted high. Her life flew long.
In her descent the crows would caw
and dimly raven shapes she saw.
The shroud then loomed, downy pale,
wings swept in, Death, the nightingale.
poem by Glenn Bagshaw
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My Feelings
I wonder when I think of you
why it is I feel so blue?
I should be happy as a lark
and let my feelings show.
But happiness will live inside
so no one has to know.
It's for the heart to ponder on.
It's for the mind to linger on.
And all the things I do
whenever I think of you
should never make me blue.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Guest is gold and crimson
15
The Guest is gold and crimson—
An Opal guest and gray—
Of Ermine is his doublet—
His Capuchin gay—
He reaches town at nightfall—
He stops at every door—
Who looks for him at morning
I pray him too—explore
The Lark's pure territory—
Or the Lapwing's shore!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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On A Lady Singing
She bade us listen to the singing lark
In tones far sweeter than its own:
For fear that she should cease and leave us dark
We built the bird a feigned throne,
Shrined in her gracious glory-giving ways
From sceptred hands of starred humility-
Praising herself the more in giving praise
To music less than she.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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Changing Time
THE cloud looked in at the window,
And said to the day, 'Be dark!'
And the roguish rain tapped hard on the pane,
To stifle the song of the lark.
The wind sprang up in the tree tops
And shrieked with a voice of death,
But the rough-voiced breeze, that shook the trees,
Was touched with a violet's breath.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Life's Turn
How can death be near
Does it whisper still
All I hear is the lark singing
How can death be real
Safe within your light
How can death bring back the night
How can death here
Knocking at the door
He should know
I don’t live here anymore
Oh death be gone!
I’ve known you well
Tonight it’s life’s turn
poem by Sonya Florentino
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A Farewell
I
My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and grey:
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
For every day.
II
Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever;
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long:
And so make life, death, and that vast for-ever
One grand, sweet song.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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