English Poetry II: From Collins to Fitzgerald.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
William Wordsworth
379. To the Cuckoo
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 listen’d 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 long’d for, never seen!
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, fairy place,
That is fit home for Thee!