Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic'd flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;
With everything that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise:
Arise, arise!
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind
- A Lover's Complaint
- Fear No More
- O Mistress Mine, Where Are You Roaming? (Twelfth Night, Act Ii, Scene Iii)
- Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day? (Sonnet 18)