WINGED voice to tell the skies of earth, <br />Dear earth-born lark, sing on, sing clear, <br />Sing into heaven that she may hear <br />;Sing what thou wilt, so she but know <br />Thine ecstasy of summer mirth <br />And think ''Tis from the world below!' <br /> <br />Instant, old wont returns fresh brought, <br />And her desire goes seeking me, <br />For whom her whole world used to be <br />And all my world for sake of her; <br />She cannot think an earthward thought <br />That shall not seem my messenger. <br /> <br />She will be glad for love, and smile, <br />Saying 'Thank God for joy like ours: <br />Saying 'There come the kind home hours: <br />His work-day will be sped ere long, <br />That keeps him hence this little while. <br />'Sing, lark, until she know thy song. <br /> <br />Sing of the earth, but sing no care, <br />Sing thine own measureless content; <br />She will remember what it meant; <br />Griefs are too base, but, carolling thus, <br />Thou with thy joy mayst reach her there, <br />And she joy too remembering us.<br /><br />Augusta Davies Webster<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sky-lark-s-song/
