Spring, the sweet spring,
is the year’s pleasant king,
Then blooms each thing,
then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting,
the pretty birds do sing:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The palm and may
make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play,
the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The fields breathe sweet,
the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet,
old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street
these tunes our ears do greet:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring, the sweet spring!
-Thomas Nashe
This is translated to kannada by B.M Shrikantaiah.
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