Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining.
We're alike, Jess would tell himself, me and Miss Edmunds. . . We don't belong at Lark Creek, Julia and me.
The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below
Raising people is not some lark. It's serious work with serious repercussions. It's air-traffic control. You can't step out for a minute; you can barely pause to scratch your ankle.
I might mention all the divine charms of a bright spring day, but if you had never in your life utterly forgotten yourself in straining your eyes after the mounting lark, or in wandering through the still lanes when the fresh-opened blossoms fill them with a sacred silent beauty like that of fretted aisles, where would be the use of my descriptive catalogue?
A springful of larks in a rolling Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling Blackbirds and the sun of October Summery On the hill's shoulder.
The owl goes not into the nest of the lark.
And now the herald lark Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry The morn's approach, and greet her with his song.
The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.
Cor, love a duck. And also Lawks-a-mercy. I said that inwardly, but outwardly I said, "Blimey, and also, what larks.
What a lark! What a plunge!
Daja: "He and Rosethorn work together? They hate each other. " Lark: "I didn't say they liked it. - Daja and Lark referring to Rosethorn and Crane's cooperation on finding the cures for new diseases
So we [with Chris Ellis] did [Fresh Hell], and we did the first five episodes as a lark, just to see if anybody would respond or be interested, and we got enough feedback that was positive that we thought, "Let's keep going with this and see if we can flesh it out a bit this season. " We've had 10 episodes, and they've been longer and a little more complete.
Teach me, O lark! with thee to greatly rise, to exalt my soul and lift it to the skies.
None but the lark so shrill and clear; Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings, The morn not waking till she sings.
Like the lark that soars in the air, first singing, then silent, content with the last sweetness that satiates it, such seemed to me that image, the imprint of the Eternal Pleasure.
To rise with the lark, and go to bed with the lamb.
Crowds of bees are giddy with clover Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet, Crowds of larks at their matins hang over, Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.
