The Dewy Morn by Richard Jefferies

Felise listened to the larks as they rose and sang -- now one, now two, now six or seven at once. They did not soar to a great height; but, starting from a field of clover beneath, came up a little above the level where she sat, and sang like a chorus before her. She listened, and in her heart silently asked the same as they did aloud. Over their nests and their beloved ones they uttered their verses, in melody requiring of the sun and of the earth happiness for these, and for themselves permission to live.

Chanting their welcome to the sun, they breathlessly poured out a prayer demanding, in a thousand trills, that the joy of day and life might descend upon their homes. They sank to the clover, but speedily came up again, restless in their gladness, eager to acknowledge the benefit of day, eager to secure fulfilment of their hopes for their young, fearful lest they had not expressed themselves sufficiently, lest they had seemed ungrateful.