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Meadowlark Poems

Table of Contents

  1. The Meadow-Lark by Ira Billman
  2. The Meadow Lark by Paul Laurence Dunbar
  3. Meadowlarks by Sara Teasdale
  4. To the Meadow-Lark by Lloyd Mifflin

  1. The Meadow-Lark

    by Ira Billman

    A patch of sunrise streaked with mist,
    True child of morn;
    A sweet, spring day the meadow kissed,
    And thou wast born.

    A while we watch thy movement shy,
    Without a nest;
    Dost make the rafters of the sky
    By night thy rest?

    Did some one stumble in his lore
    Of dates unknown,
    That thou art here so long before
    The grass is grown?

    There is no insect on the wing,
    The ground is bare;
    Yet thou, methinks to hear thee sing,
    With queens dost fare.

    Not till the grass begins to wave
    Art thou thy best;
    When such thy sunny ways, I crave
    Thy yellow breast.

    Then with the dew upon thy throat,
    Thy notes impearled;
    Thou droppest them afar, afloat,
    Down on the world.

    A secret doth to thee belong,
    Canst make reply?
    Thy home is on the ground, and song
    Is in the sky.

    Thus to my earnest questioning,
    The meadow-lark
    This tonic note to me did fling.
    How like a spark!

    The high-winged spirits care-free are.
    Of lowly heart;
    Their every thought, thus fledged a star,
    A gem of art.

  2. The Meadow Lark

    by Paul Laurence Dunbar

    Though the winds be dank,
    And the sky be sober,
    And the grieving Day
    In a mantle gray
    Hath let her waiting maiden robe her, —
    All the fields along
    I can hear the song
    Of the meadow lark,
    As she flits and flutters,
    And laughs at the thunder when it mutters.
    O happy bird, of heart most gay
    To sing when skies are gray!

    When the clouds are full,
    And the tempest master
    Lets the loud winds sweep
    From his bosom deep
    Like heralds of some dire disaster,
    Then the heart alone
    To itself makes moan;
    And the songs come slow,
    While the tears fall fleeter,
    And silence than song by far seems sweeter.
    Oh, few are they along the way
    Who sing when skies are gray!

  3. Meadowlarks

    by Sara Teasdale

    In the silver light after a storm,
    Under dripping boughs of bright new green,
    I take the low path to hear the meadowlarks
    Alone and high-hearted as if I were a queen.

    What have I to fear in life or death
    Who have known three things: the kiss in the night,
    The white flying joy when a song is born,
    And meadowlarks whistling in silver light.

  4. To the Meadow-Lark

    by Lloyd Mifflin

    Minstrel of melody,
    How shall I chaunt of thee,
    Floating in meadows athrill with thy song?
    Fluting anear my feet,
    Plaintive, and wildly sweet, —
    O could thy spirit to mortal belong!
    Tell me thy secret art,
    How thou dost touch the heart,
    Hinting of happiness still unpossessed?
    Say, doth thy bosom burn
    Vainly, as mine, and yearn
    Sadly for something that leaves it unblessed?

    Doth not that tender tone,
    Over the clover blown,
    Flow from a sorrow — a longing in vain?
    Or is it joy intense,
    So like a pang, the sense
    Hears in thy sweetest song something of pain?
    Others may cleave the steeps,
    Soar, and in upper deeps
    Sing in the heaven's blue arches profound;
    But thou most lowly thing,
    Teach me to keep my wing
    Close to the breast of our Mother, the ground!

    Soon shall my fleeting lay
    Fade from the world away, —
    Thine, ever-during, shall thrill thro' the years;
    Love, who once gladdened me,
    Surely hath saddened thee, —
    Half of thy music is made of his tears.
    Long may I list thy note
    Soft thro' the summer float
    Far o'er the fields where the wild grasses wave;
    Then when my life is done,
    Oh, at the set of sun,
    Pour out thy spirit anear to my grave!

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