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 The sunrise wakes the lark to sing,
 The moonrise wakes the nightingale.
  Come, darkness, moonrise, everything
 read more 
 The sunrise wakes the lark to sing,
 The moonrise wakes the nightingale.
  Come, darkness, moonrise, everything
   That is so silent, sweet, and pale:
    Come, so ye wake the nightingale. 
Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed.
Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed.
 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. 
 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." 
 The pretty Lark, climbing the Welkin cleer,
 Chaunts with a cheer, Heer peer-I neer my Deer;
  Then read more 
 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. 
 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. 
 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! 
 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. 
 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.