I Love a Lark-Song Too

He was my problem boy: I had been told

To use severity against his vice.

Yet that first week of teaching, once or twice

A wonder filled his eyes. Before the old

Defiance gleamed, I saw beneath his bold

Contempt-defense, a thrush-flute melt the ice

About his heart; a timid colt entice

His tenderness ... The day I saw him hold

A wounded lark that could not soar the skies

And bind its broken wing and soothe its fear

Then softly say, "Sing, little lark!" I knew

And loved my problem lad. Then as his eyes

Pleaded his hungering, I drew him near

And gently said, "I love a lark-song too."