IF blackbird and thrush are the spring songsters of the garden; the skylark is of the countryside.

Various poets have celebrated the lark. Here are the opening verses of Shelley's paean to the little bird with the great voice.

TO A SKYLARK

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!

Bird though never wert,

That from Heaven, or near it,

Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher

From the earth thou springest

Like a cloud of fire;

The blue deep thou wingest,

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

In the golden lightning

Of the sunken sun,

O'er which clouds are bright'ning,

Thou dost float and run;

Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

The pale purple even

Melts around thy flight;

Like a star of Heaven

In the broad daylight,

Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight.