The woods and banks of England now, Late coppered with dead leaves and old, Have made the early violets grow, And bulge with knots of primrose gold. Hear how the blackbird flutes away, Whose music scorns to sleep at night: Hear how the cuckoo shouts all day For echoes -- to the world's delight: Hallo, you imp of wonder, you -- Where are you now, cuckoo? Cuckoo! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STORY OF THE GATE by HARRISON ROBERTSON KARMA by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON ANIMAL TRANQUILITY AND DECAY; A SKETCH by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH DICING by AGATHIAS SCHOLASTICUS CESAR FRANCK by JOSEPH AUSLANDER |