"Sadder than lark when lowering"

By Alfred Austin

Sadder than lark when lowering

Clouds defend the sky;

Sadder than wild swan pouring

Death—notes ere it die;

Sadder than winds imploring

Shelter when storms are high,—

Couldst thou be less than adoring,

More sad were I.

Happy as streamlet flowing

'Twixt banks of heathery peat;

Happy as murmur going

Through the inclining wheat;

 Happy as mother glowing

Over her little one's feet,—

I am happy in knowing,

Thou'rt mine, my sweet!