A quiet night, a stagnant dark;
no stars, no moon, no light
to fill this open space,
to illuminate this place
quite devoid of hope or plight...
but suddenly a stifled sound,
the peeping of a lark.

He opens wide his beak to sing
a passion-glorious song
of freedom and of flight
to fill the placid night --
a most daring sound, and long!
but nothing comes but peeping from
the lark, and flutt'ring wing.

He aches to sing and longs to wake
the stars or morning sun
with stirring cries,
but in his eyes
a look of painful hope undone:
He cannot sing, he knows not how,
his heart threatens to break.

Still, blinking soft from far above
fair Venus glances down
and sees the lark
in stifling dark,
with patience sets aside her crown
and beams to earth a brighter light
awakening lark's love.

He sings, first soft, then opens wide,
resolve now existential;
he'll choose the song,
he'll wake the throng!
No longer bridled potential,
he found his love, his light above
and grasped the song inside.