ature calls

As long as a cuckoo calls from a grove of trees in the lull after a shower, workers will empower, prisoners will remember, and patients will recover.

To the Cuckoo

— by William Wordsworth

Not the whole warbling grove in concert heard When sunshine follows shower, the breast can thrill Like the first summons, Cuckoo! of thy bill, With its twin notes inseparably paired. The captive ’mid damp vaults unsunned, unaired, Measuring the periods of his lonely doom, That cry can reach; and to the sick man’s room Sends gladness, by no languid smile declared. The lordly eagle-race through hostile search May perish; time may come when never more The wilderness shall hear the lion roar; But, long as cock shall crow from household perch To rouse the dawn, soft gales shall speed thy wing, And thy erratic voice be faithful to the Spring!