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SONNET I.
O thou sweet Lark that in the heaven so high–
Twinklest thy wings and singest merrily,
I watch thee soaring with no mean delight,
And when at last I turn mine aching eye
That lags, how far below thy lofty flight,
Still silently receive thy melody.
O thou sweet Lark, that I had wings like thee!
Not for the joy it were in yon blue light
Upward to plunge, and from my heavenly height
Gaze on the creeping multitude below,
But that I soon would wing my eager flight
To that loved place where Fancy even now
Has fled, and Hope looks onward thro' a tear,
Counting the weary hours that keep her here.
Twinklest thy wings and singest merrily,
I watch thee soaring with no mean delight,
And when at last I turn mine aching eye
That lags, how far below thy lofty flight,
Still silently receive thy melody.
O thou sweet Lark, that I had wings like thee!
Not for the joy it were in yon blue light
Upward to plunge, and from my heavenly height
Gaze on the creeping multitude below,
But that I soon would wing my eager flight
To that loved place where Fancy even now
Has fled, and Hope looks onward thro' a tear,
Counting the weary hours that keep her here.
