The Cuckoo
The cuckoo, like a hawk in flight,
With narrow pointed
Whews o'er our heads - soon out of
And as she flies she sings:
And darting down the hedgerow
She scares the little
Who leaves the nest it cannot
While plaintive notes are heard.
I've watched it on an old oak
Sing half an hour
Until its quick eye noticed
And then it whewed away.
Its mouth when open shone as
As hips upon the brier,
Like stock doves seemed its winged
But striving to get higher It heard me rustle and above
Soon did its flight pursue,
Still waking summer's
And singing as it flew.
So quick it flies from wood to wood'Tis miles off 'ere you think it gone;
I've thought when I have listening
Full twenty sang - when only one.
When summer from the forest
Its melody with silence lies,
And, like a bird from foreign parts,
It cannot sing for all it tries.'Cuck cuck' it cries and mocking
Crie 'Cuck' and then it stutters
Till quick forgot its own sweet
It seems to know itself no more.
John Clare
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