Ralph Vaughan Williams - The Lark Ascending

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TO A SKYLARK By Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. We look before and after, And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow The world should listen then - as I am ...