CAUGHT, caught is the wild cuckoo That sang among the flowers ;
They have prisaned him in a dark prison To count them the hours.
Between the dawn and the dim evening Twelve songs must he sing, That men may reckon the day's passing And the passing of Spring.
0 they have shattered the sweet April And slain the heart of May, Because they have stolen the wild cuckoo To tell the time of day.
And wearily sings the wild cuckoo,
Wearily sings he now,
Because his heart would cease from singing, And his throat km:4s not how.