Better than all measures
Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures
That in books read more

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

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

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

The merry lark he soars on high,
No worldly thought o'ertakes him.
He sings aloud to the read more

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.

I said to the sky-poised Lark:
"Hark--hark!
Thy note is more loud and free
read more

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."

O happy skylark springing
Up to the broad, blue sky,
Too fearless in thy winging,
read more

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.

And now the herald lark
Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry
The morn's approach, and greet read more

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

It was the lark, the herald of the morn;
No nightingale.

It was the lark, the herald of the morn;
No nightingale.

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

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

None but the lark so shrill and clear;
Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings,
The read more

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