"But soft ! mine ear upcaught a sound, from yonder wood it came ! 

 The spirit of the dim green glade did breathe his own glad name ; 

 Yes, it is he ! the hermit bird, that, apart from all his kind, 

 Slow spells his beads monotonous to the soft western wind ; 

 Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! he sings again, his notes are void of art ; 

 But simplest strains do soonest sound the deep founts of the heart." 



Motherwell. 



