To The Lark

6Bird of the morn, 5When roseate clouds begin 6To show the opening dawn 5Thou gladly sing'st it in, And o'er the sweet green fields and happy vales Thy pleasant song is heard, mixed with the morning gales. 6Bird of the morn, 5What time the ruddy sun 6Smiles on the pleasant corn 5Thy singing is begun, Heartfelt and cheering over labourers' toil, Who chop in coppice wild and delve the russet soil. 6Bird of the sun, 5How dear to man art thou! 6When morning has begun 5To gild the mountain's brow, How beautiful it is to see thee soar so blest, Winnowing thy russet wings above thy twitchy nest. 5Bird of the Summer's day, 6How oft I stand to hear 5Thee sing thy airy lay, 6With music wild and clear, Till thou becom'st a speck upon the sky, Small as the clods that crumble where I lie. 6Thou bird of happiest song, 5The Spring and Summer too 6Are thine, the months along, 5The woods and vales to view. If climes were evergreen thy song would be The sunny music of eternal glee.