Hark! hark! hark! The lark sings high in the dark. The were wolves mutter, the night hawks moan, The raven croaks from the Raven-stone; What care I for his boding groan, Riding the moorland to come to mine own? Hark! hark! hark! The lark sings high in the dark. Hark! hark! hark! Written for music, 1857. |