"The little red lark"
di Alfred Perceval Graves (1846-1931)

Oh swan of slenderness,
Dove of tenderness,
Jewel of joys, arise!
The little red lark,
Like a soaring spark
Of song to his sun-burst flies.
But till thou'rt risen
Earth is a prison
Fuill of my lonesome sighs.
Then awake and discover
To thy fond lover
The morn of thy matchless eyes!
The dawn is dark to me;
Hark, o hark to me,
Pulse of my heart, I pray!
And out of thy hiding
With blushes gliding
Dazzle me with thy day.
Ah, then once more to thee
Flying I'll pour to thee
Passion so sweet and gay.
The lark shall listen,
And dewdrops glisten
Laughing on ev'ry spray.