Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages - Various - Страница 16

The fresh air moves like water round a boat.

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

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