O SWALLOW chirping in the sparkling eaves, Why hast thou left far south thy fairy homes, To build between these drenched Aprilleaves, And sing me songs of Spring before it comes? Too soon thou singest! Yon black stubborn thorn Bursts not a bud: the sneaping wind drifts on. She that once flung thee crumbs, and in the morn Sang from the lattice where thou sing'st, is gone. Here is no Spring. Thy flight yet further follow. Fly off, vain swallow! Thou com'st to mock me with remembered things. I love thee not, O bird for me too gay. That which I want thou hast, -- the gift of wings: Grief -- which I have -- thou hast not. Fly away! What hath my roof for thee? My cold dark roof, Beneath whose weeping thatch thine eggs will freeze! Summer will halt not here, so keep aloof. Others are gone; go thou. In those wet trees I see no Spring, though thou still singest of it. Fare hence, false prophet! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HELEN, THE SAD QUEEN by PAUL VALERY EPITAPH IN BALLADE FORM by FRANCOIS VILLON EPIGRAM: EHEU FUGACES by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM BEN BOLT by THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH ODE ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB by THOMAS GRAY |