Percy Bysshe Shelley – To A Skylark

Percy Bysshe Shelley – To A Skylark – Go through by Michael Sheen To A Skylark Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou in no way wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy entire heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher even now and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fireplace The blue deep thou wingest, And singing nevertheless dost soar, and soaring actually singest. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O’er which clouds are bright’ning, Thou dost float and run, Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts close to thy flight Like a star of heaven In the wide daylight Thou artwork unseen, but yet I listen to thy shrill delight — Eager as are the arrows Of that silver sphere Whose extreme lamp narrows In the white dawn obvious Till we barely see — we feel that it is there. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. What thou art we know not What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy existence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet concealed In the light of assumed, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the globe is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: Like a higher-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her enjoy-laden Soul in secret hour With tunes sweet as love, which overflows her bower: Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering

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