“The little red lark, like a rosy spark
Of song, to his sun-burst flies;
But till you are risen, earth is a prison,
Full of my captive sighs.”

— Alfred Perceval Graves

Song, "The Little Red Lark".

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Alfred Perceval Graves 2

Anglo-Irish poet, songwriter, and school inspector 1846–1931

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“do not be afraid to talk to that lonely boy on the train … with the rosy red cheeks, sun glasses & big cigar… he just mmight be… angel”

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[ Link to tweet https://twitter.com/dril/status/551464123293523968]
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“I have known fellows to whom the earth was so full of little pleasures that after the worst clouts they rose like larks from a furrow. A wise philosophy—but I had none of it. I always saw the little pageant of man's life like a child's peep-show beside the dark wastes of eternity.”

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“Like prisoners escaped during night from their prison,
The waters fling gaily their spray to the sun;
Who can tell me from whence that glad river has risen?
Who can say whence it springs in its beauty?—not one.”

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“The little red lark, like a rosy sparkOf song, to his sun-burst flies;But till you are risen, earth is a prison,Full of my captive sighs.”

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Alfred Perceval Graves 2

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“The little red lark, like a rosy spark
Of song, to his sun-burst flies;
But till you are risen, earth is a prison,
Full of my captive sighs.”