Читать книгу The Oxford Book of English Verse - Various Authors - Страница 137

HARK! hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings,

And Phœbus ’gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

On chaliced flowers that lies;

And winking Mary-buds begin

To ope their golden eyes:

With everything that pretty bin,

My lady sweet, arise!

Arise, arise!