The Cuckoo

THAT'S the cuckoo, you say. I cannot hear it.

When last I heard it I cannot recall; but I know

Too well the year when first I failed to hear it--

It was drowned by my man groaning out to his

sheep "Ho! Ho!"

Ten times with an angry voice he shouted

"Ho! Ho!" but not in anger, for that was his

way.

He died that Summer, and that is how I remember

The cuckoo calling, the children listening, and me

saying, "Nay."

And now, as you said, "There it is," I was hearing

Not the cuckoo at all, but my man's "Ho! Ho!"

instead.

And I think that even if I could lose my deafness

The cuckoo's note would be drowned by the voice

of my dead.