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...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: LAMBERT HUTCHINS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 5 by CONRAD AIKEN CAMPUS SONNET: TALK by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET SPECIAL EFFECTS by JAMES GALVIN LITTLE SON by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |