Verse > William Wordsworth > Complete Poetical Works


          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,                                 10
          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.                                 20

          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 blessed Bird! the earth we pace
          Again appears to be                                         30
          An unsubstantial, faery place;
          That is fit home for Thee!



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