The Woodlark

 Teevo cheevo cheevio chee:
O where, what can th?at be? 
Weedio-weedio: there again! 
So tiny a trickle of s?ng-strain; 
And all round not to be found
For brier, bough, furrow, or gr?en ground 
Before or behind or far or at hand 
Either left either right 
Anywhere in the s?nlight. 
Well, after all! Ah but hark—
‘I am the little w?odlark.
. . . . . . . . 
To-day the sky is two and two 
With white strokes and strains of the blue
. . . . . . . . 
Round a ring, around a ring 
And while I sail (must listen) I sing
. . . . . . . .
The skylark is my cousin and he 
Is known to men more than me
. . . . . . . . 
…when the cry within 
Says Go on then I go on 
Till the longing is less and the good gone

But down drop, if it says Stop, 
To the all-a-leaf of the tr?etop 
And after that off the bough
. . . . . . . . 
I ?m so v?ry, O so? very glad 
That I d? th?nk there is not to be had…
. . . . . . . . 
The blue wheat-acre is underneath 
And the braided ear breaks out of the sheath, 
The ear in milk, lush the sash, 
And crush-silk poppies aflash, 
The blood-gush blade-gash
Flame-rash rudred 
Bud shelling or broad-shed 
Tatter-tassel-tangled and dingle-a-dangled 
Dandy-hung dainty head.
. . . . . . . . 
And down … the furrow dry
Sunspurge and oxeye 
And laced-leaved lovely 
Foam-tuft fumitory
. . . . . . . . 
Through the velvety wind V-winged 
To the nest’s nook I balance and buoy
With a sweet joy of a sweet joy, 
Sweet, of a sweet, of a sweet joy 
Of a sweet—a sweet—sweet—joy.’

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