TO THE CUCKOO. by W. WORDSWORTH.

 
 
Previous Poem Next Poem
 

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!
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
 
Tags: poems about birds
 
 

Support poems4free.com
If you liked this page, feel free to share it!