LARK.
To the last point of vision, and beyond,
Mount, daring warbler! that love-prompted strain
(’Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond)
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain;
Yet might’st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing
All independent of the leafy spring.
Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine;
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with rapture more divine;
Type of the wise who soar but never roam;
Twin to the kindred points of Heaven and home.
Wordsworth.