Poem by Frederick Locker-Lampson

The Cuckoo

We heard it calling, clear and low,
That tender April morn; we stood
And listened in the quiet wood,
We heard it, ay, long years ago.

It came, and with a strange, sweet cry,
A friend, but from a far-off land;
We stood and listened, hand in hand,
And heart to heart, my Love and I.

In dreamland then we found our joy,
And so it seemed as 'twere the Bird
That Helen in old times had heard
At noon beneath the oaks of Troy.

O time far off, and yet so near!
It came to her in that hushed grove,
It warbled while the wooing throve,
It sang the song she loved to hear.

And now I hear its voice again,
And still its message is of peace,
It sings of love that will not cease -
For me it never sings in vain. 

1. The Old Clerk
2. The Widow’s Mite
3. Vanity Fair
4. Phœbe, the Nymph of the Well
5. A Word That Makes Us Linger

Edward Thomas The Cuckoo ("That's the cuckoo, you say. I cannot hear it")

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