Lark, skylark, spilling your rubbed and round
Pebbles of sounds in air's still lake,
Whose widening circles fill the noon; yet none
Is known so small beside the sun:

Be strong your fervent soaring, your skyward air!
Tremble there, a nerve of song!
Float up there where voice and wing are one,
A singing star, a note of light!

Buoyed, embayed in heaven's noon-wide]reaches-
For soon Light's tide will turn - Oh Stay!
Cease not till day streams to the west, then down
That estuary drop down to peace.