O blithe New-comer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice; O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice?

List--'twas the cuckoo--O, with what delight Heard I that voice! and catch it now, though faint, Far off and faint, and melting into air, Yet not to be mistaken. Hark again! Those louder cries give notice that the bird, Although invisible as Echo's self, Is wheeling hitherward.

When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men: for thus sings he, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo: O, word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear!

And, being fed by us, you used us so As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, Useth the sparrow--did oppress our nest; . . .

At land indeed Thou dost o'ercount me of my father's house: But since the cuckoo builds not for himself, Remain in't as thou mayst.

While I deduce, From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings, The symphony of spring.