Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages - Various - Страница 27

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;

Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,

Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing:

Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu we, to witta woo!

The Palm and May make country houses gay,

Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,

And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay:

Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu we, to witta woo!

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,

Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,

In every street these tunes our ears do greet:

Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu we, to witta woo!

Spring, the sweet Spring!

Thomas Nash

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