Full Lyrics
Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maidens dance in a ring;
The spring, the sweet spring.
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,
Cuckoo, cuckoo, pu we to witta wee.
The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day
And we hear the birds tune their merry lay:
Cuckoo, cuckoo,…
The fields breathe sweet, the flowers kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives asunning sit.
The fields breathe sweet, flowers kiss our feet,
In ev'ry street these tunes our ears do greet:
Cuckoo, cuckoo,…
