TO A SKYLARK
11JAIL to thee, blithe Spirit!
^ •* Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. * 5
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. 10
In the golden lightning
Of the sunken sun,
O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
Thou dost float and run ;
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 15
The pale purple even
Melts around thy flight;
Like a star of Heaven,
In the broad daylight
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight, 20
Keen as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere,
Whose intense lamp narrows
In th*e white dawn clear
Until we hardly see—we feel that it is there. 25
All the earth and air
With thy voice is loud,
171