Now's the time for mirth and play, Saturday's an holiday; Praise to heav'n unceasing yield, I've found a lark's nest in the field. A lark's nest, then your playmate begs You'd spare herself and speckled eggs; Soon she shall ascend and sing Your praises to th' eternal King. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CENSUS-TAKER by ROBERT FROST FIRST BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 11 by THOMAS CAMPION WIFE, CHILDREN AND FRIENDS by WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER LINES COMPOSED AT GRASMERE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH NETLEY ABBEY; A LEGEND OF HAMPSHIRE by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: DEDICATION TO R. WENMAN by WILLIAM BASSE |