To the Lark

Bird of the morn
When roseate clouds begin
To shew the opening dawn
Thy singing does begin
& oer the sweet green fields & happy vales
Thy pleasant song is heard mixed with the morning gales

Bird of the morn
What time the ruddy sun
Smiles on the pleasant corn
Thy singing is begun
Heartfelt & cheering over labours toil
Who chop in coppice wild & delve the russet soil.

Bird of the sun
How beautifull art thou
When morning has begun
To gild the mountains brow
How beautifull it is to see thee soar so blest
Winnowing thy russet wings above thy twitchy nest.

Bird of the summers day
How oft I stand to hear
Thee sing thy airy way
With music wild & clear
Till thou becomes a speck upon the sky
Small as those clods that crumble where I lye.

Thou bird of happiest song
The spring & summer too
Is thine the months along
The woods & vales to view
If climes were ever green thy song would be
The sunny music of eternal glee.
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