Here showers the light in golden dots, Whirrs to the sheltering branches near; Here stretch'd, the pleasant turf I press, In luxury of idleness; Sun-streaks, and glancing-wings, and sky, Spotted with cloud-shapes, charm my eye: While murmuring grass, and waving trees, Their leaf-harps sounding to the breeze, TO A SKY-LARK. BY SHELLEY. HAIL to thee, blithe spirit! In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher, From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest, In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run; Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven, In the broad day-light Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds they flow not As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heedeth not. Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soul, in secret hour, With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: Like a glow-worm golden Its aërial hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view: Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves, Makes faint with too much sweet these heavywinged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, All that ever was Joyous,and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine; I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. Chorus hymeneal, Or triumphal chaunt, Matched with thine would be all But an empty vaunt A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. C |