Oh,
the cuckoo,
she's a pretty bird,
she sings as she flies.
She bringeth good tidings, she telleth no lies.
She sucketh white flowers for to keep her voice clear,
and the more she singeth cuckoo,
the summer
draweth near.
I was a-walking and talking one day,
I met my own true love as he came that way.
Though the
meeting was a pleasure,
though the parting was a woe,
though the parting was a woe,
though I found him false-hearted,
he'd kiss me and then he'd go.
I
wish I were a scholar and could handle a pen.
I'd write to my lover and to all roving men.
Tell them of the grief I know that it end all their lies.
He came that way.
Though the meeting was a pleasure,
though the parting was a woe,
though I found him false-hearted,
he'd kiss me and then he'd go.
Oh, the cuckoo,
she's a pretty bird, she sings as she flies.
She bringeth good tidings, she telleth no lies.