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THE LARK'S SONG

And stormy the day may be That breaks through its prison bars,But it brings no regret to me, For I sing at the door of the stars!
Along the dim ocean-verge I see the ships labouring on;They rise on the lifting surge One moment, and they are gone.I see on the twilight plain The flash of the flying cars;Men travail in joy or pain— But I sing at the door of the stars!
I see the green, sleeping world, The pastures all glazed with rime;The smoke from the chimney curled; I hear the faint church bells chime.I see the grey mountain crest, The slopes, and the forest spars,With the dying moon on their breast— While I sing at the door of the stars!

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