I. <br />O rustic herald of the spring, <br />At length in yonder woody vale <br />Fast by the brook I hear thee sing; <br />And, studious of thy homely tale, <br />Amid the vespers of the grove, <br />Amid the chaunting choir of love, <br />Thy sage responses hail. <br /> <br />II. <br />The time has been when I have frown'd <br />To hear thy voice the woods invade; <br />And while thy solemn accent drown'd <br />Some sweeter poet of the shade, <br />Thus, thought I, thus the sons of care <br />Some constant youth or generous fair <br />With dull advice upbraid. <br /> <br />III. <br />I said, 'While Philomela's song <br />'Proclaims the passion of the grove, <br />'It ill beseems a cuckow's tongue <br />'Her charming language to reprove'— <br />Alas, how much a lover's ear <br />Hates all the sober truth to hear, <br />The sober truth of love! <br /> <br />IV. <br />When hearts are in each other bless'd, <br />When nought but lofty faith can rule <br />The nymph's and swain's consenting breast, <br />How cuckow-like in Cupid's school, <br />With store of grave prudential saws <br />On fortune's power and custom's laws, <br />Appears each friendly fool! <br /> <br />V. <br />Yet think betimes, ye gentle train <br />Whom love and hope and fancy sway, <br />Who every harsher care disdain, <br />Who by the morning judge the day, <br />Think that, in April's fairest hours, <br />To warbling shades and painted flowers <br />The cuckow joins his lay.<br /><br />Mark Akenside<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ode-iii-to-the-cuckow/
