Spring

By Thomas Nashe

1567-1601


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!

DayPoems Poem No. 167
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/167.html">Spring by Thomas Nashe</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

Poets  Poems