O skylark, soaring, soaring,
Ere day is well begun,
Thy full, glad song outpouring
To greet the rising sun,—
So high, so high in heaven
Thy swift wing cleaves the blue,
We sparrows in the hedges
Can scarcely follow you!
O strong, unwearied singer!
By summer winds caressed,
Among the white clouds floating
With sunshine on thy breast,
We hear thy clear notes dropping
In showers of golden rain,
A glad, triumphant music
That hath no thought of pain!
We twitter in the hedges;
We chirp our little songs,
Whose low, monotonous murmur
To homeliest life belongs;
We perch in lowly places,
We hop from bough to bough,
While in the wide sky-spaces,
On strong wing soarest thou!
Yet we—we share the rapture
And glory of thy flight—
Thou’rt still a bird, O skylark,—
Thou spirit glad and bright!
And ah! no sparrow knoweth
But its low note may be
Part of earth’s joy and gladness
That finds full voice in thee!