| Author |
Quotes |
| Alexander Pope | No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings, Shall, list'ning, in mid-air suspend their wings. |
| Alexander Pope | No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings, Shall, list'ning, in mid-air suspend their wings. |
| Christina G Rossetti | The sunrise wakes the lark to sing, The moonrise wakes the nightingale. Come, darkness, moonrise, everything That is so silent, sweet, and pale: Come, so ye wake the nightingale. |
| Christina G Rossetti | O happy skylark springing Up to the broad, blue sky, Too fearless in thy winging, Too gladsome in thy singing, Thou also soon shalt lie Where no sweet notes are ringing. |
| Edmund Waller | The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build Her humble nest, lies silent in the field. |
| Elizabeth Barrett Browning | The music soars within the little lark, And the lark soars. |
| Hartley Coleridge | The merry lark he soars on high, No worldly thought o'ertakes him. He sings aloud to the clear blue sky, And the daylight that awakes him. |
| James Montgomery | The bird that soars on highest wing, Builds on the ground her lowly nest; And she that doth most sweetly sing, Sings in the shade when all things rest: In lark and nightingale we see What honor hath humility. |
| James Thomson | Up springs the lark, Shrill-voiced, and loud, the messenger of morn; Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts Calls up the tuneful nations. |
| Percy Bysshe Shelley | Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skilled to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! |
| Percy Bysshe Shelley | 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. |
| Rev James Hurdis | Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed. |
| Robert Burns | Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining. |
| Sir William Davenant | The lark now leaves his watery nest, And climbing, shakes his dewy wings. He takes your window for the East And to implore your light he sings. |
| John Milton | To hear the lark begin his flight, And singing startle the dull Night, From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled dawn doth rise. |
| John Milton | And now the herald lark Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry The morn's approach, and greet her with his song. |
| William Shakespeare | Then my dial goes not true, I look this lark for a bunting. |
| William Shakespeare | Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long, And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad, The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm. So hallowed and so gracious is that time. |
| William Shakespeare | It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. |
| William Shakespeare | It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale. |
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