  Little cuckoo, com'st thou here, When the blooming spring is near, To sing thy song and tell thy tale, To every hill and every vale? Tell me, is thy distant home Far across the salt sea foam? Or hast thou, hidden from the day, Slept the wintry hours away? Welcome, cheering bird to me, Where'er thy wintry mansion be, In the earth, or o'er the main, Welcome to these fields again!
April and May are quickly o'er; Then, Cuckoo, chaunt thy strain in peace, For in June thy song shall cease. |
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