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Tag Name "Larks" (13)

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Love without hope, as when the young bird-catcher Swept off his tall hat to the Squire's own daughter, So let the imprisoned larks escape and fly Singing about her head, as she rode by.
Robert Graves
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Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clamtrous lapwings feel the leaden death Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare They fall, and leave their little lives in air.
Alexander Pope
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Teenagers travel in droves, packs, swarms. ... To the librarian, they're a gaggle of geese. To the cook, they're a scourge of locusts. To department stores, they're a big beautiful exaltation of larks ... all lovely and loose and jingly.
Bernice Fitz-Gibbon
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There was an old man with a beard, who said: 'It is just as I feared! Two owls and a hen, four larks and a wren have all built their nests in my beard.
Edward Lear
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If the skies fall, one may hope to catch larks.
Francois Rabelais
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In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place, and in the sky, The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard among the guns below.
John McCrae
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Cor, love a duck. And also Lawks-a-mercy. I said that inwardly, but outwardly I said, Blimey, and also, what larks.
Louise Rennison
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We all had such larks. Yes, it was hard work but the friendships and the genuine respect we had for one another, that side I shall miss greatly. I've stopped acting, but I don't think I've finished using my voice. I could, and probably will, record the whole of Shakespeare's sonnets. They live at the side of my bed and are my constant companions.
Peter O'Toole
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No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings, Shall, list'ning, in mid-air suspend their wings.
Alexander Pope
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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.
Dylan Thomas
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My curiosity sister of larks.
Fernando Pessoa
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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.
Jean Ingelow
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The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below
John McCrae