Throughout the months of April, May, and June,
Forth came the cuckoo, and chimed out his tune
Upon the sky-branch of the apple-tree;
There, unmolested, perch’d he merrily:—
O! happy favourite, of the wingèd host,
Where dost thou dwell—inland? or on the coast?—
Or in some dreary cave, where all is night,—
Belike earth’s chaos ere God gave the light?
Say—whither shall imagination trace
Thy magic form; to hear thee chime with grace