Somewhere afield here something lies
In Earth's oblivious eyeless trust
That moved, that moved a poet to prophecies -
A pinch of unseen, unguarded dust

The dust of the lark that Shelley heard
And made immortal through times to be; -
Though it only lived like another bird

And knew not its immortality

Lived its meek life; then, one day, fell -
A little ball of feather and bone;
And how it perished, when piped farewell
And where it wastes, are alike unknown

Maybe it rests in the loam I view
Maybe it throbs in a myrtle's green
Maybe it sleeps in the coming hue
Of a grape on the slopes of yon inland scene

Go find it, faeries, go and find
That tiny pinch of priceless dust
And bring a casket silver-lined
And framed of gold that gems encrust;
And we will lay it safe therein
And consecrate it to endless time;
For it inspired a bard to win
Ecstatic heights in thought and rhyme

And we will lay it safe therein
And consecrate it to endless time;
For it inspired a bard to win
Ecstatic heights in thought and rhyme