The Golden Treasury of English Songs and Lyrics/Book 1/Poem 1
For works with similar titles, see Spring.
i
SPRING
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year’s pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo.
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a sunning sit. In every street these tunes our ears do greet, Cuckoo, jug -jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! Spring! the sweet Spring T. Nash