O blithe newcomer! 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 schoolboy 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 blessed birth! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, fairy place,
That is fit home for Thee! -William Wordsworth
It's the Spring Time here. The trees are covered with fresh leaves. A variety of birds could be seen here .Every morning becomes melodious by the sound of cuckoo. I wake up everyday with their sweet sound. No sound can be sweeter than than the sound of Cuckoo !
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