TO A SKYLARK

O skylark! I see thee and call thee joy!

Thy wings bear thee up to the breast of the dawn;

I see thee no more, but thy song is still

The tongue of the heavens to me!

Thus are the days when I was a boy;

Sweet while I lived in them, dear now they're gone:

I feel them no longer, but still, O still

They tell of the heavens to me.