Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON A FORSAKEN LARK'S NEST, by MATHILDE BLIND


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON A FORSAKEN LARK'S NEST, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Lo, where left 'mid the sheaves, cut down by the iron-fanged reaper
Last Line: Withers benumbed in a world his joy might have helped to illume.
Alternate Author Name(s): Lake, Claude
Subject(s): Birds; Larks; Skylarks


LO, where left 'mid the sheaves, cut down by the iron-fanged reaper,
Eating its way as it clangs fast through the wavering wheat,
Lies the nest of a lark, whose little brown eggs could not keep her
As she, affrighted and scared, fled from the harvester's feet.

Ah, what a heartful of song that now will never awaken,
Closely packed in the shell, awaited love's fostering,
That should have quickened to life what, now a-cold and forsaken,
Never, enamoured of light, will meet the dawn on the wing.

Ah, what paeans of joy, what raptures no mortal can measure,
Sweet as honey that's sealed in the cells of the honey-comb,
Would have ascended on high in jets of mellifluous pleasure,
Would have dropped from the clouds to nest in its gold-curtained home.

Poor, pathetic brown eggs! Oh, pulses that never will quicken!
Music mute in the shell that hath been turned to a tomb!
Many a sweet human singer, chilled and adversity-stricken,
Withers benumbed in a world his joy might have helped to illume.






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