Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year.

Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! We'd make, with joyful wing, Our annual visit o'er the globe, Companions of the spring.

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

And now I hear its voice again, And still its message is of peace, It sings of love that will not cease, For me it never sings in vain.

The Attic warbler pours her throat Responsive to the cuckoo's note.