THE cuckoo is a pretty bird, She singeth as she flies; She bringeth us good tidings, She telleth us no lies; She sucketh all sweet flowers To keep her throttle clear, And every time she singeth Cuckoo-cuckoo-cuckoo! The summer draweth near. The cuckoo is a giddy bird, No other is as she, That flits across the meadow, That sings in every tree. A nest she never buildeth, A vagrant she doth roam; Her music is but tearful -- Cuckoo-cuckoo-cuckoo! "I nowhere have a home." The cuckoo is a witty bird, Arriving with the spring. When summer suns are waning She spreadeth wide her wing. She flies th' approaching winter, She hates the rain and snow; Like her, I would be singing, Cuckoo-cuckoo-cuckoo! And off with her I'd go! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GARDEN FANCIES: 2. SIBRANDUS SCHAFNABURGENSIS by ROBERT BROWNING A FIT OF RHYME AGAINST RHYME [OR, RIME] by BEN JONSON THE OLD BRIDGE by AUGUSTE ANGELLIER SONNET: MAN VERSUS ASCETIC. 1 by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON THE RED SUNSETS, 1883 (1) by MATHILDE BLIND HINTS FROM HORACE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |