Page:Poems, Volume 1, Coates, 1916.djvu/78



HERE is a legend somewhere told

Of how the skylark came of old

To the dying Saviour's cross,

And circling round that form of pain

Poured forth a wild, lamenting strain,

As if for human loss.

Pierced by those accents of despair,

Upon the tiny mourner there

Turning his fading eyes,

The Saviour said, "Dost thou so mourn,

And is thy fragile breast so torn,

That man, thy brother, dies?

O'er all the world uplifted high,

We are alone here, thou and I;

And near to heaven and thee

I bless thy pity-guided wings!

I bless thy voice—the last that sings

Love's requiem for me!

Sorrow no more shall fill thy song;

These frail and fluttering wings grown strong,