Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 1/To the Cuckoo

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75653Poems Volume I — To the Cuckoo1815William Wordsworth

II.

TO THE CUCKOO.



O blithe New-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice:
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird,
Or but a wandering Voice?


While I am lying on the grass,
Thy loud note smites my ear!—
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off and near!


1 hear thee babbling to the Vale
Of sunshine and of flowers;
And unto me thou bring'st a tale
Of visionary hours.


Thrice welcome, Darling of the Spring!
Even yet thou art to me
No Bird; but an invisible Thing,
A voice, a mystery.


The same whom in my School-boy days
I listen'd to; that Cry
Which made me look a thousand ways;
In bush, and tree, and sky.


To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still long'd for, never seen!


And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.


O blessed Bird! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, faery place;
That is fit home for Thee!