May every morn be spring morn!
Coos the cuckoo at every dawn.
Yon, smell of young mango buds,
Blowing from green woods.
On the terrace corner,
A thrilling voice starts to murmur,
Awaking me from deep slumber.
I know not its theme,
Nor I know rhythm.
Still, how sweet strain!
With total ignorance of pain.
Soars she gaily in the sky,
Seldom appears in shy.
Shall I hear till I die!
we all wish, poet, for eternal Spring! loved this poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I'm hanging on a tree hearing the cuckoo sings no pain, no suffer just pleasure in such beauty song!