THE gleaners spread around, and here and there, THOMSON. TO THE CUCKOO. O BLITHE New-comer! I have heard, O Cuckoo shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice? While I am lying on the grass, At once far off and near! I hear thee babbling to the vale Of sunshine and of flowers; And unto me thou bring'st a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery ; The same who in my schoolboy days I listened to; that cry Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky. To seek thee did I often rove And I can 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 An unsubstantial, fairy place; That is fit home for thee! WORDSWORTH. Ir is not only in the sacred fane That homage should be paid to the Most High; GRAHAME. |