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Shelleys Skylark

Somewhere afield here something

In Earth's oblivious eyeless

That moved a poet to prophecies -A pinch of unseen, unguarded

The dust of the lark that Shelley heard,

And made immortal through times to be; -Though it only lived like another bird,

And knew not its immortality.

Lived its meek life; then, one day, fell -A little ball of feather and bone;

And how it perished, when piped farewell,

And where it wastes, are alike unknown.

Maybe it rests in the loam I view,

Maybe it throbs in a myrtle's green,

Maybe it sleeps in the coming

Of a grape on the slopes of yon inland scene.

Go find it, faeries, go and

That tiny pinch of priceless dust,

And bring a casket silver-lined,

And framed of gold that gems encrust;

And we will lay it safe therein,

And consecrate it to endless time;

For it inspired a bard to

Ecstatic heights in thought and rhyme.(The neighbourhood of Leghorn:  March, 1887)

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Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hardy OM (2 June 1840 – 11 January 1928) was an English novelist and poet. A Victorian realist in the tradition of George Eliot, he was i…

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