The Lark

There is a small bird cowering in the dark ;
His wing is broken, he will never sing;
He will not sing again, the little lark
That has a broken wing.

The lark that cowers with a broken wing
Is all alone ; his mate has gone away ;
To-morrow in the fields his mate will sing
Her merry lay.

His mate will sing again her merry lay
In the green fields, forgetting he is gone;
But he will never rouse a sunny day
Again for any one.

He will not sing again for any one ;
The wing is broken of that little lark ;
His song is broken, and his heart is gone
There in the dark.

Songs From The Clay [1915]