O the lark by Avon's side
When the leas were wet with dew,
Soaring heavenward, fain to hide
In the far celestial blue!
Light the wind of June went by;
Rose the mist in sunny mazes;
High o'er cloud and zephyr winging
To the angels soared he, singing
Golden-sweet,—then silently
Dropped to rest amid the daisies.
How the building thrushes sung
In gardens where the Limmat flows,
Just as morning's gate outswung
Flushing all the Alps with rose!
How the chorus jubilant
Floated over lake and river!
Life was joy and earth was young
While those building thrushes sung;—
Ah! their melody will haunt
Zurich in my thought forever.
Lark and thrush, I love you well;
But I heard a rarer song
As a wild March evening fell
Bleak New Hampshire's heights along.
Trees were bare and brooks were still;
On Kearsarge the snow was lying;
One red cloud athwart the gray
Faded, faded slow away,
And the north wind down the hill
Like the dirge of hope was sighing.
Hark! a robin in the elm
Warbling notes so glad and free,
Straight he brought a summer realm
Over thousand leagues of sea!
High he sang: "A truce to fear!
Frost and storm are but the portal
We must pass ere June befall,
And the Lord is love through all!"
Lark and thrush, your lays are dear,
But the robin's is immortal!