Ode to the Cuckoo
Nightingales built the nest
Where, as a lonely guest,
First thy young head did rest,
Cuckoo, so dear!
Strange to the father-bird,
Strange to the mother-bird,
Sounded the note they heard,
Tender and clear.
Fleeing thy native bow’rs,
Bright with the silv’ry flow’rs,
Oft in the summer hours
Hither thou fliest;
Light’st on some orange tall,
Scatt’ring the blossoms all,
And, while around they fall,
Ceaselessly criest.
Through, through the livelong day
Soundeth thy roundelay,
Never its accents may
Pall on mine ear:—
Come, take a bribe of me!
Ne’er to far regions flee;
Dwell on mine orange-tree,
Cuckoo, so dear!
Anon.