 | The wind in the trees |  |
44
CUCKOO
His voice runs before me; I follow, it flies:
It is now in the meadow, and now 'mid the skies;
So blithesome, so lightsome, now distant, now here,
And when he calls Cuckoo, the summer is near.
It is now in the meadow, and now 'mid the skies;
So blithesome, so lightsome, now distant, now here,
And when he calls Cuckoo, the summer is near.
He calls back the roses, red roses that went
At the first blast of winter, so sad and forspent,
With the dew in their bosoms, young roses and dear,
And when he calls Cuckoo, the summer is near.
At the first blast of winter, so sad and forspent,
With the dew in their bosoms, young roses and dear,
And when he calls Cuckoo, the summer is near.
I would twine him a gold cage, but what would he do
For his world of the emerald, his bath in the blue,
And his wee feathered comrades to make him good cheer?
And when he calls Cuckoo, the summer is near.
For his world of the emerald, his bath in the blue,
45
And when he calls Cuckoo, the summer is near.
Now, blackbird, give over your harping of gold!
Brown thrush and green linnet, your music withhold!
The flutes of the forest are silver and clear,
But when he calls Cuckoo, the summer is here.
Brown thrush and green linnet, your music withhold!
The flutes of the forest are silver and clear,
But when he calls Cuckoo, the summer is here.
| The wind in the trees | |