The Lark's Song Poem by Alexander Anderson

The winds have their sweetest whisper,
This golden summer day,
And the yellow corn is bowing
Wherever their footsteps stray.


The lark above me is singing,
As only a lark can sing,
When the sweet blue vault is above him,
And sunshine is on his wing.


I lie in the light and listen
To his perfect melody,
He sings for the joy of singing,
And not for the sake of me.


It is meant for the long green meadows,
The streams that ripple by,
For the clouds that uprear their banners
In the pomp of their march through the sky.


For violets deep in the woodland,
The daisies bright and gay,
That scatter their snowy blossoms
LIke a lower milky way.


All these drink deep of his music,
Wherever it may fall,
But the note of a lower mortal
Would shake discord through all.