The Little Red Lark

O Swan of slenderness, Dove of tenderness, Jewel of joys, arise! The little red lark, Like a soaring spark Of song, to his sunburst flies; But till thou art arisen, Earth is a prison, Full of my lonesome sighs: Then awake and discover, To thy fond lover, The morn of thy matchless eyes. The dawn is dark to me, Hark! oh, hark to me, Pulse of my heart, I pray! And out of thy hiding With blushes gliding, Dazzle me with thy day. Ah, then once more to thee Flying I ’ll pour to thee Passion so sweet and gay, The larks shall listen, And dew-drops glisten, Laughing on every spray.

Collection: 
English
Alfred Perceval Graves
Sub Title: 
IV. Wooing and Winning

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