Somewhere afield here something lies <br />In Earth's oblivious eyeless trust <br />That moved a poet to prophecies - <br />A pinch of unseen, unguarded dust <br /> <br />The dust of the lark that Shelley heard, <br />And made immortal through times to be; - <br />Though it only lived like another bird, <br />And knew not its immortality. <br /> <br />Lived its meek life; then, one day, fell - <br />A little ball of feather and bone; <br />And how it perished, when piped farewell, <br />And where it wastes, are alike unknown. <br /> <br />Maybe it rests in the loam I view, <br />Maybe it throbs in a myrtle's green, <br />Maybe it sleeps in the coming hue <br />Of a grape on the slopes of yon inland scene. <br /> <br />Go find it, faeries, go and find <br />That tiny pinch of priceless dust, <br />And bring a casket silver-lined, <br />And framed of gold that gems encrust; <br /> <br />And we will lay it safe therein, <br />And consecrate it to endless time; <br />For it inspired a bard to win <br />Ecstatic heights in thought and rhyme.<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shelley-s-skylark-the-neighbourhood-of-leghorn-m/
