Og nå står bjerken i brudeslør, og fuglene er servitører ! Så har alle sin egen stemme fått, selv breen smiler og klukker og alle har sine yndefulle melodier, bekkene klukker fra fuglmunn, plantene i skrud... Er vi ikke fine ! Den Gud må være stor, som har slike musikanter... På en Mai som morgen og aftenstid viser Guds himmel i glede og glans.

The wood-lark

O where, what can that be ?
Weedio-weedio: there again!
So tiny a trickle of song-strain;

And all round not to be found
For brier, bough, furrow, or green ground
Before or behind or far at hand
Either left either right
Anywhere in the sunlight.


Well, after all! Ah but hark -
I am the little woodlark.
the skylark is my cousin and he 
Is known to men more than me.
Round a ring, around a ring
And while I sail (must listen) I sing.




To-day the sky is two and two
With white strokes and strains of the blue
The blue wheat-acre is underneath
And the corn is corded and shoulders its sheaf,
The ear in milk, lust the sash,
And crush-silk poppies a flash,
The blood-gush blade-gash
Flame-rash
Bud shelling or broad-shed
Tatter-tangled and dingle-a-dangled
Dandy-hung dainty head.

And down ... the furrow dry
Sung spurge and ox-eye
And lace-leaved lovely
Foam-tuft fumitory.


I am so very, O so very glad
That I do think there is not to be had
Anywhere any more joy to be in.
'Cheevio' when the cry within
Says Go on then I go on
Till the longing is less and the good gone,
But down drop, if it says Stop,
To the all-a-leaf of the treetop.
And after that off the bough
'Hover-float to the hedge brow.'

Through the velvety wind V-winged
'Where shake shadow is sun's-eye-ringed'
To the nest's nook I balance and buoy
With a sweet joy of a sweet joy,
Sweet, of a sweet, of a sweet joy
Of a sweet - a sweet - sweet - joy.'