The Skylark

“. . . a dripping shower of notes from the softening blue. It is the skylark come.”—ROBERT À FIELD, in the New Age.

“IT is the skylark come.” For shame! Robert-à-Cockney is thy name: Robert-à-Field would surely know That skylarks, bless them, never go!

. . . . .

Love of my life, bear witness here How we have heard them all the year; How to the skylark’s song are set The days we never can forget. At Rustington, do you remember? We heard the skylarks in December; In January above the snow They sang to us by Hurstmonceux Once in the keenest airs of March We heard them near the Marble Arch; Their April song thrilled Tonbridge air; May found them singing everywhere; And oh, in Sheppey, how their tune Rhymed with the bean-flower scent in June. One unforgotten day at Rye They sang a love-song in July; In August, hard by Lewes town, They sang of joy ’twixt sky and down; And in September’s golden spell We heard them singing on Scaw Fell. October’s leaves were brown and sere, But skylarks sang by Teston Weir; And in November, at Mount’s Bay, They sang upon our wedding day!

. . . . .

Mr.-à-Field, go forth, go forth, Go east and west and south and north; You’ll always find the furze in flower, Find every hour the lovers’ hour, And, by my faith in love and rhyme, The skylark singing all the time!