Themes and Variations/The Lark's Song
For other versions of this work, see The Lark's Song.
THE LARK’S SONG.
The morning is wild and dark,
The night-mist runs on the vale,
Bright Lucifer dies to a spark,
And the wind whistles up for a gale.
And stormy the day may be,
That breaks through its prison bars,
But it brings no regret to me,—
For I sing at the gate of the stars!
The night-mist runs on the vale,
Bright Lucifer dies to a spark,
And the wind whistles up for a gale.
And stormy the day may be,
That breaks through its prison bars,
But it brings no regret to me,—
For I sing at the gate of the stars!
Along the dim ocean-verge
I see the ships labouring on,
They rise on the lifting surge
One moment,—and they are gone.
I see on the twilight plain
The flash of the flying cars;
Men travail in joy or pain,—
But I sing at the gate of the stars!
I see the ships labouring on,
They rise on the lifting surge
One moment,—and they are gone.
I see on the twilight plain
The flash of the flying cars;
Men travail in joy or pain,—
But I sing at the gate of the stars!
I see the green, sleeping world,
The pastures all glazed with rime:
The smoke from the chimney curled;
I hear the faint church bells chime.
I see the grey mountain crest,
The slopes, and the forest-spars,
With the dying moon on their breast—
While I sing at the gate of the stars!
The pastures all glazed with rime:
The smoke from the chimney curled;
I hear the faint church bells chime.
I see the grey mountain crest,
The slopes, and the forest-spars,
With the dying moon on their breast—
While I sing at the gate of the stars!