TO THE CUCKOO. by W. WORDSWORTH.
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| 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 twofold shout I hear; From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off and near. Though babbling only to the vale Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me 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 blesséd bird! the earth we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial, fairy place; That is fit home for Thee! |
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| W. WORDSWORTH., THE GOLDEN TREASURY Of the best Songs and Lyrical Pieces In the English Language Selected by Francis Turner Palgrave | |
| Notes: This poem has an exaltation and a glory, joined with an exquisiteness of expression, which place it in the highest rank amongst the many masterpieces of its illustrious Author. PALGRAVE'S NOTES |
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| Tags: poems about birds | |
