Sophie Gengembre Anderson - The Song of the Lark

 

"Bring the dews the birds shake off,

Waking in the hedges,—-

Those too, perfumed for a proof,

From the lilies' edges:

(...)

Bring them calm and white in;

Whence to form a mirror pure,

For Love's self-delighting.

Bring a grey cloud from the east,

Where the lark is singing;

Something of the song at least,

Unlost in the bringing:

That shall be a morning chair,

Poet-dream may sit in,

When it leans out on the air,

Unrhymed and unwritten."

- Elizabeth Barrett Browning, The House of Clouds (excerpt)