Classic Poem

Come , come, away: the spring
(By every bird that can but sing,
Or chirp a note) doth now invite
Us forth to taste of his delight,
In field, in grove, on hill, in dale;
But above all the nightingale,
Who in her sweetness strives t'outdo
The loudness of the hoarse cuckoo.
“Cuckoo,” cries he; “Jug, jug, jug,” sings she;
From bush to bush, from tree to tree,
Why in one place then tarry we?

Come away; why do we stay?
We have no debt or rent to pay.
No bargains or accounts to make;
Nor land or lease to let or take:
Or if we had, should that remore us
When all the world's our own before us,
And where we pass, and make resort,
It is our kingdom and our court?
“Cuckoo,” cries he, “Jug, jug, jug,” sings she;
From bush to bush, from tree to tree,
Why in one place then tarry we?