第17章 POEM: THE SKYLARK

". . . a dripping shower of notes from the softening blue. It is the skylark come."--Robert A Field, in the New Age.

"It is the skylark come." For shame!

Robert-a-Cockney is thy name:

Robert-a-Field would surely know That skylarks, bless them, never go!

* * *

Love of my life, bear witness here How we have heard them all the year;

How to the skylark's song are set The days we never can forget.

At Rustington, do you remember?

We heard the skylarks in December;

In January above the snow They sang to us by Hurstmonceux Once in the keenest airs of March We heard them near the Marble Arch;

Their April song thrilled Tonbridge air;

May found them singing everywhere;

And oh, in Sheppey, how their tune Rhymed with the bean-flower scent in June.

One unforgotten day at Rye They sang a love-song in July;

In August, hard by Lewes town, They sang of joy 'twixt sky and down;

And in September's golden spell We heard them singing on Scaw Fell.

October's leaves were brown and sere, But skylarks sang by Teston Weir;

And in November, at Mount's Bay, They sang upon our wedding day!

* * *

Mr.-a-Field, go forth, go forth, Go east and west and south and north;

You'll always find the furze in flower, Find every hour the lovers' hour, And, by my faith in love and rhyme, The skylark singing all the time!