The merry cuckow, messenger of Spring, His trompet shrill hath thrise already sounded, That warnes al lovers wayt upon their king, Who now is comming forth with girland crouned. With noyse whereof the quyre of byrds resounded Their anthemes sweet, devized of Loves prayse, That all the woods theyr ecchoes back rebounded, As if they knew the meaning of their layes. But mongst them all which did Loves honor rayse, No word was heard of her that most it ought, But she his precept proudly disobayes, And doth his ydle message set at nought. Therefore, O Love, unlesse she turne to thee Ere cuckow end, let her a rebell be. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FOUNTAIN (1) by SARA TEASDALE OUTWARD BOUND by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH ON A VIRTUOUS YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN THAT DIED SUDDENLY by WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT ON MY FIRST DAUGHTER by BEN JONSON WITH AN ALBUM by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR PSALM 114 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE BATTLE-FIELD OF RASZYN by KAZIMIERZ BRODZINSKI |