by William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)

Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest
Language: English 
Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.

Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow:
'O thou clear god, and patron of all light,
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow
The beauteous influence that makes him bright,
There lives a son that suck'd an earthly mother,
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.'

H. Bishop sets lines 1-4

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2004-05-19
Line count: 12
Word count: 95