Classic Poem

The Lark mounts up to greet the dawn,
Midway between the earth and sky,
The glad morn yearns and smiles upon
The bright-winged spirit, whose song fills
The pulsing air with music rills,
Glad'ning the Angels that pass by.

For never morn comes down to earth,
That is not borne on Angels' wings;
Music is of celestial birth,
And like the Lark, with voice of love,
Pure as God's light, it soars above,
When Woman from her full heart sings.

So, Maiden, thou shalt be the Lark,
And I, the long-expectant Morn;
Bring back the lost Dove to its Ark,
And let my mateless heart be bless'd,
My being in thy soul find rest,
And my new life be Music-born.