The Ecstatic

Cecil Day-Lewis


Lark, skylark, spilling your rubbed and round
Pebbles of sounds in air’s still lake,
Whose widening circles fill the noon; yet none
Is known so small beside the sun:

Be strong your fervent soaring, your skyward air!
Tremble there, a nerve of song!
Float up there where voice and wing are one,
A singing star, a note of light!

Buoyed, embayed in heaven’s noon-wide reaches-
For soon Light’s tide will turn – Oh Stay!
Cease not till day streams to the west, then down
That estuary drop down to peace.


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Source. Information about the poet. Illustration is from sharaff's photostream.

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