SPRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; <br />Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, <br />Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing-- <br /> Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! <br /> <br />The palm and may make country houses gay, <br />Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, <br />And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay-- <br /> Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! <br /> <br />The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, <br />Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, <br />In every street these tunes our ears do greet-- <br /> Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! <br /> Spring, the sweet Spring!<br /><br />Thomas Nashe<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spring/
