McClure's Magazine/Volume 19/Number 4/Allurement

F ROM yonder hedge, from yonder spray, He calls me onward and away. Broad lies the world and fair to see; The cuckoo calls&mdash;is calling me.

I have not seen or heard of Care, Who used my very bed to share, Since that first morn, when airily The cuckoo, calling, called to me.

My sweetheart's face? I have forgot. My mother? But she calls me not. From the sweet bank, from the dim lea, The cuckoo calls&mdash;is calling me.

And I must go&mdash;I may not choose; No gain there is, nor aught to lose; And soon&mdash;say, now&mdash;on some wild tree, The bird sits long and waits for me.