For now here is the piece.
The Lark Ascending
He rises and beings to round,
He drops the silver chain of sound,
Of many links without a break,
In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake.
For singing till his heaven fills,
’Tis love of earth that he instills,
And ever winging up and up,
Our valley is his golden cup
And he the wine which overflows
To list us with him as he goes.
Till lost on his aerial rings
In light, and then the fancy sings.
There is a poem of the same name by George Meredith.And there are many others on the skylark.The ones that I read by Wordsworth were equally beautiful.
Wonder if it's the most written about bird in poetry.
Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam—
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!
---To the skylark by Wordsworth
Probably this is why.