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LARKS
  Displaying page 1 of 2    Next Page >> 
[ Also see Animals Birds ]

The music soars within the little lark,
  And the lark soars.
      - Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh
         (bk. III, l. 155)

Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay,
  Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
    A hapless lover courts thy lay,
      Thy soothing, fond complaining.
      - Robert Burns, Address to the Woodlark

The busy lark, the messenger of day.
      - Geoffrey Chaucer

The merry lark he soars on high,
  No worldly thought o'ertakes him.
    He sings aloud to the clear blue sky,
      And the daylight that awakes him.
      - Hartley Coleridge, Song

The lark now leaves his watery nest,
  And climbing, shakes his dewy wings.
    He takes your window for the East
      And to implore your light he sings.
      - Sir William D'Avenant,
        The Lark now Leaves his Watery Nest

The pretty Lark, climbing the Welkin cleer,
  Chaunts with a cheer, Heer peer-I neer my Deer;
    Then stooping thence (seeming her fall to rew)
      Adieu (she saith) adieu, deer Deer, adieu.
      - Guillaume de Salluste Du Bartas,
        Weekes and Workes (fifth day)

They longed to see the day, to hear the lark record her hymns, and chant her carols blest.
      - Edward Fairfax

Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!
  Then, when the gloaming comes,
    Low in the heather blooms
      Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
        Emblem of happiness,
          Blest is thy swelling-place--
            O, to abide in the desert with thee!
      - James Hogg ("The Ettrick Shepherd"),
        The Skylark

Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed.
      - Rev. James Hurdis, The Village Curate
         (l. 276)

None but the lark so shrill and clear;
  Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings,
    The morn not waking till she sings.
      - John Lyly (Lylie or Lyllie),
        Alexander and Campaspe (act V, sc. 1)

To hear the lark begin his flight,
  And singing startle the dull Night,
    From his watch-tower in the skies,
      Till the dappled dawn doth rise.
      - John Milton, L'Allegro (l. 41)

And now the herald lark
  Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry
    The morn's approach, and greet her with his song.
      - John Milton, Paradise Regained
         (bk. II, l. 279)

The bird that soars on highest wing,
  Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
    And she that doth most sweetly sing,
      Sings in the shade when all things rest:
        In lark and nightingale we see
          What honor hath humility.
      - James Montgomery, Humility

I said to the sky-poised Lark:
  "Hark--hark!
    Thy note is more loud and free
      Because there lies safe for thee
        A little nest on the ground."
      - Dinah Maria Mulock (used pseudonym Mrs. Craik),
        A Rhyme About Birds

No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings,
  Shall, list'ning, in mid-air suspend their wings.
      - Alexander Pope, Pastorals--Winter (l. 53)

The sunrise wakes the lark to sing,
  The moonrise wakes the nightingale.
    Come, darkness, moonrise, everything
      That is so silent, sweet, and pale:
        Come, so ye wake the nightingale.
      - Christina Georgina Rossetti, Bird Raptures

O happy skylark springing
  Up to the broad, blue sky,
    Too fearless in thy winging,
      Too gladsome in thy singing,
        Thou also soon shalt lie
          Where no sweet notes are ringing.
      - Christina Georgina Rossetti, Gone Forever
         (st. 2)

Merry larks are ploughmen's clocks.
      - William Shakespeare

Then my dial goes not true; I look this lark for a bunting.
      - William Shakespeare,
        All's Well That Ends Well
         (Lafew at II, v)

Hark, hark, the lark at heaven's gate sings,
  And Phoebus gins arise,
    His steeds to water at those springs
      On chaliced flowers that lies;
        And winking Mary-buds begin
          To ope their golden eyes.
            With every thing that pretty is,
              My lady sweet, arise,
                Arise, arise!
      - William Shakespeare, Cymbeline
         (Musicians at II, ii)

Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
  Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
    The bird of dawning singeth all night long,
      And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad,
        The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike,
          No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm.
            So hallowed and so gracious is that time.
      - William Shakespeare,
        Hamlet Prince of Denmark
         (Marcellus at I, i)

It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
  Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
      - William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
         (Juliet at III, v)

It was the lark, the herald of the morn;
  No nightingale.
      - William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
         (Romeo at III, v)

Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
  From his moist cabinet mounts up on high
    And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
      The sun ariseth in his majesty;
        Who doth the world so gloriously behold
          That cedar tops and hills seem burnished gold.
      - William Shakespeare, Venus and Adonis
         (l. 853)

Better than all measures
  Of delightful sound,
    Better than all treasures
      That in books are found,
        Thy skilled to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!
      - Percy Bysshe Shelley, To a Skylark
         (st. 20)


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