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| O BLITHE new-comer! I have heard, | |
| I hear thee and rejoice. | |
| A cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, | |
| Or but a wandering voice? | |
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| While I am lying on the grass | 5 |
| Thy twofold shout I hear; | |
| From hill to hill it seems to pass, | |
| At once far off and near. | |
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| Though babbling only to the vale | |
| Of sunshine and of flowers, | 10 |
| Thou bringest unto me a tale | |
| Of visionary hours. | |
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| Thrice welcome, darling of the spring! | |
| Even yet thou art to me | |
| No bird, but an invisible thing, | 15 |
| A voice, a mystery; | |
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| 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. | 20 |
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| 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. | |
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| And I can listen to thee yet; | 25 |
| Can lie upon the plain | |
| And listen, till I do beget | |
| That golden time again. | |
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| O blessèd bird! the earth we pace | |
| Again appears to be | 30 |
| An unsubstantial, fairy place; | |
| That is fit home for thee! | |
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