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

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

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.

The bird that soars on highest wing,
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
And she that read more

The bird that soars on highest wing,
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
And she that doth most sweetly sing,
Sings in the shade when all things rest:
In lark and nightingale we see
What honor hath humility.

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.

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

The sunrise wakes the lark to sing,
The moonrise wakes the nightingale.
Come, darkness, moonrise, everything
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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.

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.

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.

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