Page:Poems, in two volumes (IA poemsintwovolume00word).pdf/70
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To me, no Babbler with a tale
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou tellest, Cuckoo! in the vale
Of visionary hours.
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou tellest, Cuckoo! in the vale
Of visionary hours.
Thrice welcome, Barling of the Spring!
Even yet thou art to me
No Bird; but an invisible Thing,
A voice, a mystery.
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 listen'd to; that Cry
Which made me look a thousand ways;
In bush, and tree, and sky.
I listen'd 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 wort still a hope, a love;
Still long'd for, never seen!
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wort still a hope, a love;
Still long'd for, never seen!