O blithe new-comer! I have heard, 
L hear thee and rejoice, 
O cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, 
Or but a wandering voice ? 
Whale I am lying on the grass 
Thy two-fold shout I hear; 
From hill to hill wt seems to pass, 
At once far off and near. 
Thrice welcome, darling of the spring! 
Even yet thou art to me 
No bird, but an invisible thing— 
A voice, a mystery 5 
The same whom in my schoolboy days 
LI listened to ; that cry 
Which made me look a thousand ways, 
In bush and tree and sky. 
*< WORDSWORTH.” 
