Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/155



lark! the lark! though light and small,

An ever-busy creature,

Is gaiety and gladness all,

Through every freak of nature:

The morn-light—eve-light hear her sing,

With all heaven's smiles upon her—

And we've one hand our glass to swing,

And one for her we honor—

So while the lark is joyous, we

May pass existence joyously.

it ripen, saw it redden

Upon the garden tree—

And who shall gather thee, sweet maiden!

O, who shall gather thee.

reach so high, sweet maiden!

I cannot reach so high—

Will distance love's delusions deaden?

Farewell!—I go—I'll try.