Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/115



Cuckoo, cuckoo,” sang the cuckoo In the little grove, Ah, in the little grove. In her own home wept my loved one In her lonely room, Ah, in her lonely room.

Why are you weeping, lamenting— Surely you are mine, Ah, surely you are mine. When the cuckoo cries at Christmas Three times you are mine, Ah, three times you are mine.”

How can I keep from lamenting— When you are not mine, Ah, when you are not mine. For the cuckoo ne’er at Christmas Lets his voice be heard, Ah, lets his voice be heard.”