To a Skylark, P.B.Shelley. Out of tune?

I managed to get in a short cycle-ride this morning, for my permitted daily exercise. I was rewarded when I reached the empty Maiden Castle car park by the singing of skylarks above my head, which put things into perspective.

Even that's not right, everything is out of kilter. Nothing makes sense.

"Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!

Bird thou never wert,

That from Heaven, or near it,

Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated art…

Like a Poet hidden

In the light of thought,

Singing hymns unbidden,

Till the world is wrought

To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not".


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