TO THE CUCKOO BY wILLAIM wORDSWORTH

(Which I too have seen resting on the grass)

O Blithe New-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice.
O Cuckoo! Shall I call thee Bird,
Or but a wand’ring 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 bid, but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery;

The same whom in my school-boy days
I listened to; That Cry
Which made me look a thousand ways,
Ion bush, and tree, and sky.

To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a shop, a love;
Still longer for, never seen

And I listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.

O blessed Bird! The earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, faery place;
This fit home for Thee!

Wordsworth sees the beautiful bird as a metaphor for the golden, magical, youthful time of love.