On the Cuckoo Singing in Another's Garden

Within thy garden lies
A sheltered dell where alders grow,
From thence to morning skies
The cuckoo's notes unceasing flow,
And every eve, far, far away
Among the Fuji trails
Purple with bloom, his roundelay
Of joyance never fails.
But in my garden here,
Though orange-flowers unwithered blow,
No cuckoo ventures near,
Nor song doth he bestow!
Why tells he to thine ear
The tale I may not know?