Evening Lark Song
T HERE'S the last lark in Scotland! Hear him pour
His sweet enchantment on the quiet air—
A benediction or a vesper prayer,
Or praise for all the gladness gone before.
Still there is light to sing and light to soar
And all the glowing western heavens wear
Gold promise of the morrow. Does he dare
Exultantly rejoiee for gifts in store?
While I, with heart more like the shamefast flower
That grows beside his nest and shuts its eye
Ere daylight fades, dreading the sunset hour;
Leave these bright Scottish years and each dear tie,
Faces of friends, kind hands, warm hearts—Love's dower,
Unthrifted, yet secure, while Time rolls by.
His sweet enchantment on the quiet air—
A benediction or a vesper prayer,
Or praise for all the gladness gone before.
Still there is light to sing and light to soar
And all the glowing western heavens wear
Gold promise of the morrow. Does he dare
Exultantly rejoiee for gifts in store?
While I, with heart more like the shamefast flower
That grows beside his nest and shuts its eye
Ere daylight fades, dreading the sunset hour;
Leave these bright Scottish years and each dear tie,
Faces of friends, kind hands, warm hearts—Love's dower,
Unthrifted, yet secure, while Time rolls by.
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