11. TO THE CUCKOO.
Reading edition
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, I hear thy restless shout: From hill to hill it seems to pass, About, and all about!
To me, no Babbler with a tale Of sunshine and of flowers, 10 Thou tellest, Cuckoo! in the vale 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. 20
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 30 An unsubstantial, faery place; That is fit home for Thee!