Yea, I’d bathe me in the sweetness
Shed by youth of yester’s day.
Yea, of these I’d weave the Earth a cloak—
But ah, He wove afirst!
They cling like petal mold, and sweet the Earth.
Yea, the Earth lies wrapped
Within the holy of its ghost.
“’Tis but a drip o’ loving,” she said when she had finished this.
Nearly every English poet has a tribute to the Skylark, but I doubt if there are many more exquisite than this:
I tuned my song to love and hate and pain