A lark flew by upon the air
And struck a red leaf from the tree,
There where he lighted; and a pair
Of robins bore him company.
And I, I looked across the lea,
Across the autumn uplands bare,
Then turned again and saw him sitting there.

Thy life is mine, thou meadow-lark;
Within thy golden breast I feel
My own heart beating, and I hark
And hear thy voice upon me steal,
Winning my own; and past repeal
I give myself to thee and mark
These few words here upon this maple's bark;

That 'I am Thou and Thou art I;'
Cutting it deep that it may show
To future years; and, by and by,
When, as the tree shalt lofty grow,
The woodman comes to lay it low,
This word shall stand before his eye,
That 'I am Thou,' writ clear, 'and Thou art I.'