Thou booby, say'st thou nothing but cuckoo? <br />The robin and the wren can thee outdo. <br />They to us play thoróugh their little throats, <br />Not one, but sundry pretty tuneful notes. <br /> <br />But thou hast fellows, some like thee can do <br />Little but suck our eggs, and sing cuckoo. <br /> <br />Thy notes do not first welcome in our spring, <br />Not dost thou its first tokens to us bring. <br />Birds less than thee by far, like prophets, do <br />Tell us 'tis coming, though not by cuckoo. <br /> <br />Nor dost thou summer have away with thee, <br />Though thou a yawling, bawling cuckoo be. <br />When thou dost cease among us to appear, <br />Then doth our harvest bravely crown our year. <br /> <br />But thou hast fellows, some like thee can do <br />Little but suck our eggs, and sing cuckoo. <br /> <br />Since cuckoos forward not our early spring, <br />Nor help with notes to bring our harvest in: <br /> <br />And since while here she only makes a noise, <br />So pleasing unto none as girls and boys, <br />The formalist we may compare her to, <br />For he doth suck our eggs, and sing cuckoo.<br /><br />John Bunyan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/of-the-cuckoo/
