Sweeter than voices in the scented hay,
Or laughing children, gleaning ears that stray,
Or Christmas songs, that shake the snows above,
Is the first cuckoo, when he comes with love.
Sadder than birds on sunless summer eves,
Or drip of raindrops on the fallen leaves,
Or wail of wintry waves on frozen shore,
Is spring that comes, but brings us love no more.
