The Woodlark

Teevo cheevo cheevio chee:O where, what can thát be?Weedio-weedio: there again!So tiny a trickle of sóng-strain;And all round not to be foundFor brier, bough, furrow, or gréen groundBefore or behind or far or at handEither left either rightAnywhere in the súnlight.Well, after all! Ah but hark—'I am the little woodlark. ....... To-day the sky is two and twoWith white strokes and strains of the blue ....... Round a ring, around a ringAnd while I sail (must listen) I sing ....... The skylark is my cousin and heIs known to men more than me ....... ...when the cry withinSays Go on then I go onTill the longing is less and the good gone

But down drop, if it says Stop,To the all-a-leaf of the tréetopAnd after that off the bough ....... I ám so véry, O só very gladThat I dó think there is not to be had... ....... The blue wheat-acre is underneathAnd the braided ear breaks out of the sheath,The ear in milk, lush the sash,And crush-silk poppies aflash,The blood-gush blade-gashFlame-rash rudredBud shelling or broad-shedTatter-tassel-tangled and dingle-a-dangledDandy-hung dainty head. ....... And down ... the furrow drySunspurge and oxeyeAnd laced-leaved lovelyFoam-tuft fumitory ....... Through the velvety wind V-wingedTo the nest's nook I balance and buoyWith a sweet joy of a sweet joy,Sweet, of a sweet, of a sweet joyOf a sweet—a sweet—sweet—joy.'