Then my dial goes not true; I look this lark for a bunting.

Then my dial goes not true; I look this lark for a bunting.

The lark now leaves his watery nest,
And climbing, shakes his dewy wings.
He takes your window read more

The lark now leaves his watery nest,
And climbing, shakes his dewy wings.
He takes your window for the East
And to implore your light he sings.

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.

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.

Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
A hapless lover courts read more

Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
A hapless lover courts thy lay,
Thy soothing, fond complaining.

Hark, hark, the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus gins arise,
His steeds to water at read more

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 every thing that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise,
Arise, arise!

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

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

Hail to thee blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
read more

Hail to thee blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

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.