Quotes about lark, page 16
Hit and Missile 0366
A missile 'somewhere in Irak',
whose bite's as bad as is its bark,
is activated, fiery tail
computers track. Its progress trail
identified, another spark
ignites: the 'Patriot' can't fail!
When all is over, and the mark
attained, it seems an easy lark.
Should some scud through, objective nail,
statistics help each future sale!
(22 January 1991)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Aubade
HARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes:
With everything that pretty bin,
My lady sweet, arise!
Arise, arise!
poem by William Shakespeare
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Dead Love
Dead love, by treason slain, lies stark,
White as a dead stark-stricken dove:
None that pass by him pause to mark
Dead love.
His heart, that strained and yearned and strove
As toward the sundawn strives the lark,
Is cold as all the old joy thereof.
Dead men, re-risen from dust, may hark
When rings the trumpet blown above:
It will not raise from out the dark
Dead love.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Hark the sky-lark in the cloud
HARK the sky-lark in the cloud,
Hark the cricket in the grass,
Trilling blitheness clear and loud,
Chirping glee to all who pass.
Oh, the merry summer lay!
Earth and sky keep holiday.
Hear the leaves that kiss the air,
Hear the laughter of the bees:
Who remembers winter care
In the shining days like these?
Oh, the merry lay of June!
All our hearts are glad in tune.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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After You Speak
After you speak
And what you meant
Is plain,
My eyes
Meet yours that mean,
With your cheeks and hair,
Something more wise,
More dark,
And far different.
Even so the lark
Loves dust
And nestles in it
The minute
Before he must
Soar in lone flight
So far,
Like a black star
He seems -
A mote
Of singing dust
[...] Read more
poem by Edward Thomas
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There Is Something Great (Persian / Rubiyat Quatrains)
There is something great when in the dark
in the distance we hear the dogs bark,
while your hand creeps warm over my chest
and your voice sounds sweet as that of the lark
and comfortable we lie together and cuddling
while the dove to its mate does continually sing
and even when it's raining and thunder blasts down
being close to each other is a really great thing.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Now I ask you to Pick Me
Look not at wilted garden were
roses and gardenias once grew-
that infurtle place were fresh
firm fruits once flowed and
unmarked cherries hung untouched.
Now take a look at your golden crop
ripen to pick and happy as a lark
singing and dancing all the sun long;
with all this time we can play.
A wish race through mind...
will you pick me?
Almedia S. Knight ASK
May 3,2008
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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In The Early Day (Roundel)
In the early day there is some beauty
while the breeze in grass and bracken plays,
up high a lark is soaring wild and free.
In the early day
there is something joyful and something gay
with a kind of grace in everything I see
while over the hill a rider gallops away
and it's as if something is calling me
to awaken you, to kiss you if I may,
together to find some serenity
in the early day.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Song II
ALL my heart is stirring lightly
Like dim violets winter-bound,
Quickening as they feel the brightly
Glowing sunlight underground.
Yea, this drear and silent bosom,
Hushed as snow-hid grove but now,
Breaketh into leaf and blossom
Like a gleaming vernal bough.
Oh the singing, singing, singing!
Callow hopes that thrill my breast!
Can the lark of love be winging
Back to its abandoned nest?
poem by Mathilde Blind
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She Walks In Meadows
She walks the stretch of meadow land
To pick the blooms so fair and wild
Arrayed in basket by her hand
A touch so gentle and so mild
Inside her basket lies my heart
Snared in her eyes, bound in her smile
Devoid of all will to depart
But stay for many more a mile
And there to be merry as lark
To sing in never-ending rhymes
From early morning until dark
Blithesome and carefree at all times.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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