Skylark

Speak, skylark, of your swift and day-long quest
Through shortening moments of this late season's hours.
Explain what dream still gives your flight its zest,
Gliding high where lately grain and flowers
Graced the verdant fields beneath your wings.
And what fulfillment do you seek before
The joy that springtime mating always brings
When nature gives its rebirth to explore?

Eurasian child, brought here by human hand,
You've kept your plumage and your song serene.
By now your race recalls no other land,
No softer climate, nor any childhood scene;
For here you walk among us like a native --
Adroitly slip past leaf and twig as agile
As the breeze itself. Do you enjoy
The perfume trees exhale, so faint and fragile
Like that the distant locust blooms employ
To tempt the nectar-hungry to their thickets?
And do the ceaseless notes of music flowing
From warblers, crowds of katydids and crickets
Bring to your inmost soul a happy glowing?

My friend, the winter’s chill will soon unfold,
And all year 'round you are a neighbor near.
How do you meet the spectre of the cold,
Or face the bleak and sunless days so drear?

Surely you must sleep, and strength restore.
But where is restful shelter to be found?
Not likely while in frigid air you soar;
Nor windy treetop, nor on frozen ground.

Still, bravely, through it all you do survive
And seem to find the snowflake's icy touch a kiss
That makes your heart so glad to be alive,
And gives you hope to dream again of bliss.

So if the summer sounds and scents and textures bring
Your deepest spirit realm a gentle smile,
You know by now they'll be reborn in spring,
Though you must be denied them for a while.