Shelley writes : 



With thy clear, keen joyance 



Langour cannot be ; 

 Shadow of annoyance 



Never came to thee ; 



Thou lovest ; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 



Waking or asleep, 



Thou of death must deem 

 Things more true and deep 



Than we mortals dream, 



Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? 



Now that the skylark is an American bird, the American poets may make 

 pilgrimages to the Long Island meadows, there to listen and then to hie them to 

 their closets to sing. Will one of them ever rise to the height of the master who 

 in one line put more of beauty and of truth than did all the poets who have gone 

 before or who have come and gone since? What a picture is this of a fluttering 

 form outlined against the zenith while the tinkling notes come showering down : 



Hark, hark ! The lark at heaven's gate sings. 

 Like the bird, Shakespeare sang at heaven's gate. 



To the Robin 



By Grace W. Ballard 



An early herald of the Spring, 



With russet breast and glossy wing. 



Is at my door. O ! Robin, dear, 



How sweet your song of "Cheer up, cheer. 



How can you sing when well you know. 

 Winter is here? Beneath the snow 

 No food for you, yet not a fear. 

 Is in your song of "Cheer up, cheer." 



Cold are the days of rain and sleet; 

 Where can you rest those tiny feet ? 

 I hear you say that Spring is near. 

 In hopeful song of "Cheer up, cheer." 



What hope and trust is in your note, 

 My little friend with scarlet throat. 

 Teach me your joy through smile or tear, 

 A song to sing of "Cheer up, cheer." 



824 



