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The sun has
long been set,
The stars are out by twos and threes,
The little birds are piping yet
Among the bushes and
the trees;
There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes,
And a far-off wind that rushes,
And a sound of water
that gushes,
And the cuckoo's sovereign cry
Fills
all the hollow of the sky.
Who would go `parading'
In London, `and masquerading',
On such a night of
June
With that beautiful soft half-moon,
And all
these innocent blisses?
On such a night as this is!
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