She heard it first, and it was first of May,
May in the morning and the south wind blew,
All the land in blossom, all the leaves at play.
Young love must blossom too.
Fain, fain, would he —
Shyly lookt at her who shyly lookt away,
"Hark, hark," quoth she —
"Cuckoo!"
A little wood in June, and full of song;
Daytime deliciousness and deep "who-who"
Of nightingales; and blackbirds' proud and strong
"Io, Io," when they woo;
And "Marguerite,
Marguerite," of constant thrush in love so long;
And clear and sweet,
"Cuckoo!"
Then heart to heart the happy lovers heard
Only their joy in all the blithe ado;
Dumb joy that every loud triumphant bird
And low-voiced ringdove knew:
And for its sake
An elfin dance of light and shadow stirr'd.
And of it spake
"Cuckoo!"
First of July, and fading last of days
That rose-like live, and fade, but not renew;
Then heart to heart they heard the dusking ways
Break out and sob adieu:
"Cuckoo, cuckoo,"
Adieu, "cuckoo," I go, joy goes, hope stays,
"Cuckoo," adieu,
"Cuckoo."