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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=478355" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To A Skylark</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!<br> Bird thou never wert,<br> That from Heaven, or near it,<br> Pourest thy full heart<br>In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Higher still and higher<br> From the earth thou springest<br> Like a cloud of fire;<br> The blue deep thou wingest,<br>And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> In the golden lightning<br> Of the sunken sun<br> O'er which clouds are bright'ning,<br> Thou dost float and run,<br>Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The pale purple even<br> Melts around thy flight;<br> Like a star of Heaven<br> In the broad daylight<br>Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Keen as are the arrows<br> Of that silver sphere,<br> Whose intense lamp narrows<br> In the white dawn clear<br>Until we hardly see--we feel that it is there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> All the earth and air<br> With thy voice is loud.<br> As, when night is bare,<br> From one lonely cloud<br>The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> What thou art we know not;<br> What is most like thee?<br> From rainbow clouds there flow not<br> Drops so bright to see<br>As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Like a poet hidden<br> In the light of thought,<br> Singing hymns unbidden,<br> Till the world is wrought<br>To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Like a high-born maiden<br> In a palace tower,<br> Soothing her love-laden<br> Soul in secret hour<br>With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Like a glow-worm golden<br> In a dell of dew,<br> Scattering unbeholden<br> Its aerial hue<br>Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Like a rose embowered<br> In its own green leaves,<br> By warm winds deflowered,<br> Till the scent it gives<br>Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Sound of vernal showers<br> On the twinkling grass,<br> Rain-awakened flowers,<br> All that ever was<br>Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Teach us, sprite or bird,<br> What sweet thoughts are thine:<br> I have never heard<br> Praise of love or wine<br>That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Chorus hymeneal<br> Or triumphal chaunt<br> Matched with thine, would be all<br> But an empty vaunt--<br>A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> What objects are the fountains<br> Of thy happy strain?<br> What fields, or waves, or mountains?<br> What shapes of sky or plain?<br>What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> With thy clear keen joyance<br> Languor cannot be:<br> Shadow of annoyance<br> Never came near thee:<br>Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Waking or asleep,<br> Thou of death must deem<br> Things more true and deep<br> Than we mortals dream,<br>Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> We look before and after,<br> And pine for what is not:<br> Our sincerest laughter<br> With some pain is fraught;<br>Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Yet if we could scorn<br> Hate, and pride, and fear;<br> If we were things born<br> Not to shed a tear,<br>I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Better than all measures<br> Of delightful sound,<br> Better than all treasures<br> That in books are found,<br>Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Teach me half the gladness<br> That thy brain must know,<br> Such harmonious madness<br> From my lips would flow<br>The world should listen then, as I am listening now!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Percy+Bysshe+Shelley">Percy Bysshe Shelley</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=478355" data-title="To A Skylark de Percy Bysshe Shelley" data-description="Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
 Bird thou never wert,
 That from Heaven, or near it,
 Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

 Higher still and higher
 From the earth thou springest
 Like a cloud of fire;
 The blue deep tho..."></div>
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