Spring, the sweet springSpring, 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! Discover this poem’s context and related poetry, articles, and media. POETThomas Nashe POET’S REGIONEngland SCHOOL / PERIODRenaissance SUBJECTSNature, Spring, Trees & Flowers, Landscapes & Pastorals POETIC TERMSRhymed Stanza |
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