In the green and gracious weather of September, when the birds,
When the singing of the birds has come again;
When the apple-tree is burdened with loveliness no words
Can capture, and the cape-weed on the plain
Is a shallow golden river, there's an echo on the wind,
A summons old when still the world was new --
Then my heart is out a-seeking that which I shall never find
And the cuckoo all day long is looking, too.
All day long among the timber, down the tawny bracken slopes,
Where the valley holds the haze as in a cup,
The ghosts of olden gladnesses, and madnesses, and hopes --
The little winged enchanter calls them up.
Till I feel that closes beside me is a joy that yet might be,
And I long to keep a tryst long overdue,
Where the seas of being break upon the shores of ecstasy,
And the wild Australian cuckoo goes there, too.
First published in The Bulletin, 4 September 1946
