O BIRD, Sweet, sorrowful swallow speeding to the south, Ah, was it so? Didst leave thy home because a rose's mouth Told thee to go— Because a rose's mouth, Blown red in the warm South, Told thee sweet Spring, white-browed, with violet eyes, Into the North had fled, and thou must go? Didst follow her because thy heart was stirred By one red rose's word, O Bird? Poor Bird— Thou found'st the rose had spoken false to thee. Spring still is far, The frost-bound earth puts forth no bloom for thee, The sky no star. A wild wind hurts thy breast, A snow-drop fills thy nest. O sorrowful, sweet swallow, speed away, Back to thy South a while. Aye, that is best. Back o'er the flower-flecked meadows, zephyrstirred, Back to thy South, O Bird, Poor Bird! Poor Heart! Since thou and I have left our soft sweet South Joy turned to woe. False were the words from that false smiling mouth That bid us go; That promised we should find White stars and whisp'ring wind, And shining daffodils and golden moons. But we have found bleak skies and harsh winds drear. O sorrowful, sweet swallow-bird, depart; Thine is the gladdest, ours the saddest part. We cannot follow thee, I and my Heart, Poor Heart! And Spring comes never here. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PHILOSOPHER by EMILY JANE BRONTE DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK; A TRUE STORY by ROBERT BURNS UP IN THE MORNING EARLY by ROBERT BURNS THE EARTH AND MAN by STOPFORD AUGUSTUS BROOKE THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: ON MY TWENTY-FOURTH YEAR by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |