Heine commenting on the music of Louis Hector Berlioz He is an immense nightingale, a lark as great as an eagle.... The music causes me to dream of fabulous empires, filled with fabulous sins.
Heine commenting on the music of Louis Hector Berlioz He is an immense nightingale, a lark as great as an eagle.... The music causes me to dream of fabulous empires, filled with fabulous sins.
Aubade THE lark now leaves his wat'ry nest, And climbing shakes his dewy wings. He takes this window for the East, And to implore your light he sings Awake, awake the morn will never rise Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes. The merchant bows unto the seaman's star, The ploughman from the sun his season takes, But still the lover wonders what they are Who look for day before his mistress wakes. Awake, awake break thro' your veils of lawn Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn.
A late lark twitters from the quiet skies.
Film is a lark to me - thank God I don't have to make a living from it.
Housework is a breeze. Cooking is a pleasant diversion. Putting up a retaining wall is a lark. But teaching is like climbing a mountain.
We rise with the lark and go to bed with the lamb.
I was probably the first kid in my high school to go to Yale. I applied almost as a lark. Then, when I got there, I was the dumbest person in your class.
My biggest accomplishment was playing "Lark" on the daytime drama Port Charles because it was the most regular acting job I have had, and I had to step in and fill someone else's shoes.
Hark hark the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise.
Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.
Smokey and The Bandit was just a lark. All we did was run up and down those Georgia roads wrecking cars and having the time of our life.
I sing like a lark.
Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt, And cling to faith beyond the forms of faith She reels not at the storm of warring words She brightens at the clash of 'Yes' and 'No' She sees the best that glimmers through the worst She feels the sun is hid for the night She spies the summer through the winter bud She tastes the fruit before the blossom falls She hears the lark within the songless egg She finds the fountain where they wailed 'Mirage'
The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.
Jerry and I always felt that the character was enjoying himself. He was having fun: he wasn't taking himself seriously. It was always a lark for him, as you can see in my early drawings.
A pasty costly made, Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret lay, Like fossils of the rock, with golden yolks; Imbedded and injellied.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories