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This poem is often wrongly thought to be by Robert W Service. It is published here to the memory of Hugh Antoine D'Arcy, its rightful father.
An Evening with the Bard of the Yukon, July 18 th 2003 at 20.30pm in the Town-Hall of Lancieux, Brittany.
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All Entries 2002
Odds and Ends, Other Items Of Interest About Robert

Lark Ecstasy

Published by Webmaster on 07/30/2003 (3503 reads)
I am no ornithologist;

Lark Ecstasy

I am no ornithologist;
I ain't wised up on birds;
A heap o' scholin' I have missed,
A got no fancy words.
Yet that there lark above the hill
That sings wi' might and main
Of pleasure give me such a thrill
It's almost like a pain.

Most birds sing steadfast on a bough,
His stance is in the air;
The ether is his perch and how
He tells us he is there.
That's why his song's so pure and clear,
like beads of crystal spun.
Delirious and atmosphere
And drunk with sky and sun.

The thrush sings from the hawthorn hedge,
The blackbird from the may;
The robin from the chimney ledge,
The wren from cherry spray.
The nightingale when day is done
Wakes woodland with his air -
But oh! The lark's the blessed one
Who seeks the splendour of the sun,
And sings from heaven's stair.

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