Page:Foliage, various poems.djvu/50



, if thou'rt cold to Summer's charms,

Her clouds of green, her starry flowers,

And let this bird, this wandering bird,

Make his fine wonder yours;

He, hiding in the leaves so green,

When sampling this fair world of ours,

Cries cuckoo, clear; and like Lot's wife,

I look, though it should cost my life.

When I can hear that charmed one's voice,

I taste of immortality;

My joy's so great that on my heart

Doth lie eternity,

As light as any little flower—

So strong a wonder works in me;

Cuckoo! he cries, and fills my soul

With all that's rich and beautiful.