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O blithe New-comer。 I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice,
O Cuckoo。 shall I call thee Bird,
Or but a wandering 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 bird, 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
In bush, and tree, and sky. To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen. And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again. O blessèd Bird。 the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, faery place;
That is fit home for Thee。 ※本文作者：佚名※
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