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Heigho! the lark and the owl!
One flies the morning, and one lulls the night:
Only the nightingale, poor fond soul,
Sings like the fool through darkness and light.
"A widow bird sate mourning for her love
The frozen wind crept on above,
"There was no leaf upon the forest bare, No flower upon the ground,
And little motion in the air
Except the mill-wheel's sound."
The Triumph of Life
WIFT as a spirit hastening to his
Of glory and of good, the Sun sprang forth Rejoicing in his splendour, and the mask
Of darkness fell from the awakened Earth -
Of light, the Ocean's orison arose,
To which the birds tempered their matin lay. All flowers in field or forest which unclose
Their trembling eyelids to the kiss of day,
Burned slow and inconsumably, and sent
Isle, ocean, and all things that in them wear The form and character of mortal mould, Rise as the Sun their father rose, to bear
Their portion of the toil, which he of old Took as his own, and then imposed on them: But I, whom thoughts which must remain untold
Had kept as wakeful as the stars that gem
Which an old chestnut flung athwart the steep