Classic Poem

Sweet to the morning traveller
The song amid the sky,
Where, twinkling in the dewy light,
The skylark soars on high.

And cheering to the traveller
The gales that round him play,
When faint and heavily he drags
Along his noontide way.

And when beneath the unclouded sun
Full wearily toils he,
The flowing water makes to him
A soothing melody.

And when the evening light decays.
And all is calm around,
There is sweet music to the ear
In the distant sheep-bell's sound.

But, oh! of all delightful sounds
Of evening or of morn,
The sweetest is the voice of Love
That welcomes his return.