C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.

Lark

It was the lark, the herald of the morn.

Shakespeare.

Merry larks are ploughmen’s clocks.

Shakespeare.

The busy lark, the messenger of day.

Chaucer.

Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed.

Hurdis.

They longed to see the day, to hear the lark record her hymns, and chant her carols blest.

Fairfax.

And now the herald lark
Left his ground-nest, high tow’ring to descry
The morn’s approach, and greet her with his song.

Milton.

None but the lark so shrill and clear;
Now at heaven’s gate she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.

Lyly.

Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty.

Shakespeare.

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