To A Skylark

O SKYLARK! I see thee and call thee joy! Thy wings bear thee up to the breast of the dawn; I see thee no more, but thy song is still The tongue of the heavens to me!

Thus are the days when I was a boy; Sweet while I lived in them, dear now they’re gone: I feel them no longer, but still, O still They tell of the heavens to me.

SONG SPRING

WHEN buds of palm do burst and spread Their downy feathers in the lane, And orchard blossoms, white and red, Breathe Spring delight for Autumn gain; And the skylark shakes his wings in the rain;

O then is the season to look for a bride! Choose her warily, woo her unseen; For the choicest maids are those that hide Like dewy violets under the green.

SONG AUTUMN

WHEN nuts behind the hazel-leaf Are brown as the squirrel that hunts them free, And the fields are rich with the sun-burnt sheaf, ’Mid the blue cornflower and the yellowing tree; And the farmer glows and beams in his glee;

O then is the season to wed thee a bride! Ere the garners are filled and the ale-cups foam; For a smiling hostess is the pride And flower of every Harvest Home.