C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
To the Cuckoo
By William Wordsworth (17701850)
O
I hear thee and rejoice.
O cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,
Or but a wandering voice?
Thy twofold shout I hear;
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off and near.
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.
Even yet thou art to me
No bird, but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery;
I listened to; that cry
Which made me look a thousand ways
In bush, and tree, and sky.
Through woods and on the green:
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen.
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, faery place;
That is fit home for thee!