There is an umbrella from the old town
It shades the broken lads from the rain
And mends the widow's last hope
But the rain resounds not in its roof
...
I run every nooks and crannies
Looking for you that wasn't found in me
Because I knew that you weren't here
But at the discovery of you I cooled off
...
Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.
