Now's the time for mirth and play, Saturday's an holiday; Praise to heav'n unceasing yield, I've found a lark's nest in the field. A lark's nest, then your playmate begs You'd spare herself and speckled eggs; Soon she shall ascend and sing Your praises to th' eternal King. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO OUR MOCKING-BIRD; DIED OF A CAT, MAY, 1878 by SIDNEY LANIER RICHARD BOOTH TO HIS SON JUNIUS BRUTUS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS EPITAPH ON THE LADY MARY VILLIERS [OR VILLERS] (2) by THOMAS CAREW MINNIE AND WINNIE by ALFRED TENNYSON THE PATRIOTIC MERCHANT PRINCE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE POET'S SPEAR by ARCHILOCHUS |