The Lark's Song

The morning is wild and dark, The night mist runs on the vale, Bright Lucifer dies to a spark, And the wind whistles up for a gale. And stormy the day may be That breaks through its prison bars, But it brings no regret to me, For I sing at the door of the stars! Along the dim ocean-verge I see the ships labouring on; They rise on the lifting surge One moment, and they are gone. I see on the twilight plain The flash of the flying cars; Men travail in joy or pain -- But I sing at the door of the stars! I see the green, sleeping world, The pastures all glazed with rime; The smoke from the chimney curled; I hear the faint church bells chime. I see the grey mountain crest, The slopes, and the forest spars, With the dying moon on their breast -- While I sing at the door of the stars!