 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
265
XVII. THE CUCKOO.
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! the woodlands ring
With thee, blithe harbinger of Spring;
Thou bringest cowslips, violets blue,
And buds and bells all drenched in dew,
Glittering like pearls upon a string.
With thee, blithe harbinger of Spring;
Thou bringest cowslips, violets blue,
And buds and bells all drenched in dew,
Glittering like pearls upon a string.
The swallow now is on the wing,
In hawthorn bush the thrushes sing,
But more I love to hear, “Cuckoo!
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!”
In hawthorn bush the thrushes sing,
But more I love to hear, “Cuckoo!
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!”
Thy voice puts joy in everything,
And takes from sorrow half its sting;
Recalling days that quickly flew,
Pleasures long past thou dost renew,
And the old sunshine round me fling,
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
And takes from sorrow half its sting;
Recalling days that quickly flew,
Pleasures long past thou dost renew,
And the old sunshine round me fling,
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |