That's the cuckoo, you say. I cannot hear it.
When last I heard it I cannot recall; but I know
Too well the year when first I failed to hear it —
It was drowned by my man groaning out to his sheep " Ho! Ho!"

Ten times with an angry voice he shouted
" Ho! Ho!" but not in anger, for that was his way.
He died that Summer, and that is how I remember
The cuckoo calling, the children listening, and me saying, " Nay."

And now, as you said, " There it is" I was hearing
Not the cuckoo at all, but my man's " Ho! Ho!" instead.
And I think that even if I could lose my deafness
The cuckoo's note would be drowned by the voice of my dead.