The Lark, by Henry Lawes

(5 December 1595 – 21 October 1662)

Swift through the yielding air I glide, while night's sable shades abide:

Yet in my flight (though ne're so fast) I tune and time the wild winds blast:

And ere the sun be come about, teach the young lark his lesson out;

Who early as the day is born sings his shrill anthem to the rising morn:

Let never mortal lose the pains to imitate my aiery strains,

Whose pitch too high for human ears, was set me by the tuneful spheres.

I carol to the fairies' King, wakes him a-morning when I sing:

And when the sun stoops to the deep, rock him again and his fair Queen asleep.