The powerful prayers of the skylark
turn upwards from his house every day,
world's early-riser, agitation of bright song,
4 towards the sky, April's gatekeeper.
Gracious voice, director of rhymes,
sweet path, yours is fair labour:
making song above hazel groves,
8 tasteful masterpiece of the brown-winged one.
You have a mind intent on preaching,
dear office, and excellence of language,
a strong tune from the fountain of the faith,
12 deep privileges before God.
Up on high you go, true Kay's attribute,
and on high you sing every song.
My fair brown bird, my love-messenger,
16 and my fellow author, if you will go,
greet her of the comely features,
bright her endowment, moon of Gwynedd,
and seek one of her kisses
20 to bring here to me, or two.
Splendid incantation by the stars' partition,
long twisting journey to the heights,
seizing a portion, you've climbed
24 high enough, you got a reward.
Teacher of praise from dawn to dusk,
come down, God save your wings.
Let every good creature praise
28 its creator, pure radiant governor.
Praising God as He says,
thousands hear him, he is famous, he never stops.
Manner of a love author, where are you?
32 The voice is gentle and clear in brown-grey cloth.
Yours is a lovely pure singing voice,
songbird, bay-coloured muse.
Cantor in God's chapel,
36 the omen will be fair, you are skilful.
Right to an allotment of land, frequent exquisite song,
a crest, and the cape is brown.
Make for the familiar sky,
40 poet, to the wild moorland.
You are to be seen up above,
indeed, when the day is longest.
When you come to worship,
44 a talent given to you by God who is One and Three,
no tree branch supports you
above the world, you possess language,
but the grace of the true Father
48 and His frequent miracle and His providence.
Dedicated one of the wild sky sea,
go yonder to the environs of her court.
If I be with her, the Jealous One's anger
52 will be a small matter one morning.
The fine for sad [act] of killing you is so great
that no one dares to kill you.
Were anyone to try it, bold turmoil,
56 boo to the Jealous One if you don't survive.
The firmament is your great perch,
you are so far from a hand bow.
Harsh trampled ground, the bowman is sad,
60 he will be clumsy with his great aim.
His rage is evil, turn above his reach
as his hobby-hawk passes by.