Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages онлайн

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The white clouds wander. Let us wander too.

The whining, wavering plover flap and float.

That crow is flying after that cuckoo.

Look! Look!... They're gone. What are the great trees calling?

Just come a little farther, by that edge

Of green, to where the stormy ploughland, falling

Wave upon wave, is lapping to the hedge.

Oh, what a lovely bank! Give me your hand.

Lie down and press your heart against the ground.

Let us both listen till we understand,

Each through the other, every natural sound...

I can't hear anything to-day, can you,

But, far and near: "Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!"?

Harold Monro

WEATHERS

This is the weather the cuckoo likes,

And so do I;

When showers betumble the chestnut spikes,

And nestlings fly:

And the little brown nightingale bills his best,

And they sit outside at "The Travellers' Rest,"

And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest,

And citizens dream of the south and west,

And so do I.

This is the weather the shepherd shuns,

And so do I;

When beeches drip in browns and duns,