 | The pink book |  |
47
THE LARK SANG YESTERDAY.
Oh, yesterday I heard
What seemed the merriest bird
That ever sang—
Heard him as he did hang
A mote amid the blue
Making a song most true.
What seemed the merriest bird
That ever sang—
Heard him as he did hang
A mote amid the blue
Making a song most true.
When yet the fields are bare,
And March's golden hair
Is blown about i' the breath
Of him who lingereth,
Beaten, but loath to own
His kingdom overthrown,
'Tis fine to hear the first
Ecstatical outburst
That thrills and flies
Through the new-opened skies,
A herald of the birth
Of May-time on the earth!
And March's golden hair
Is blown about i' the breath
Of him who lingereth,
Beaten, but loath to own
His kingdom overthrown,
'Tis fine to hear the first
Ecstatical outburst
That thrills and flies
Through the new-opened skies,
A herald of the birth
Of May-time on the earth!
Be glad, thou eager one!
The revel is begun!
The lark sang yesterday!
Spring will be on her way,
Bringing her goodly train
To deck the world again!
The revel is begun!
48
Spring will be on her way,
Bringing her goodly train
To deck the world again!
| The pink book | |