Classic Poem

O cuckoo! am I of my wits bereft?
Or do I hear thee in the hedgerow there?
The doves of old Dodona never left
Their oak, to babble near a thoroughfare;
How shall thy mythic character outlive
Thy presence, by thy voice identified?
How shall the fells and copses e'er forgive
Thy gadding visit to the highway-side?
How art thou disenchanted! self-betray'd!
Back, foolish bird! return whence thou hast stray'd;
A woody distance is thy vantage-ground;
Thy song comes sweetest up from Moreham wood;
Why notify thy claim to flesh and blood?
The Muses know thee as a mystic sound.