The Spring
WHAT bird so sings, yet does so wail?O, ’tis the ravished nightingale!‘Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu,’ she cries,And still her woes at midnight rise.Brave prick-song! who is’t now we hear?None but the lark so shrill and clear;Now at heaven’s gate she claps her wings,The morn not waking till she sings.Hark, hark, with what a pretty throatPoor robin-redbreast tunes his note;Hark, how the jolly cuckoos sing!Cuckoo to welcome in the spring,Cuckoo to welcome in the spring!
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 1554–1586