You May Also Like / View all maxioms
Up springs the lark,
Shrill-voiced, and loud, the messenger of morn;
Ere yet the shadows fly, he read more
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.
Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high
And read more
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;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold
That cedar tops and hills seem burnished gold.
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.
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.
No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings,
Shall, list'ning, in mid-air suspend their wings.
No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings,
Shall, list'ning, in mid-air suspend their wings.
The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build
Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.
The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build
Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull Night,
From his watch-tower in read more
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.