A LITTLE grey swallow, I fled to the vales Of the nightingales And the haunts of Apollo. Behind me lie the sheer white cliffs, the hollow Green waves that break at home, the northern gales, The oaks above the homesteads in the vales, For all my home is far, and cannot follow. O nightingale voices! O lemons in flower! O branches of laurel! You all are here, but ah not here my choice is: Fain would I pluck one pink-vein'd bloom of sorrel, Or watch the wrens build in our hazel bower. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IT COULDN'T BE DONE by EDGAR ALBERT GUEST THE FOOL AND THE POET by ALEXANDER POPE THE DEPARTED by JOHN BANISTER TABB A RHYMED REVIEW; 'LAUGHING MUSE' (BY ARTHUR GUITERMAN) by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS TO AN INDEPENDENT PREACHER by MATTHEW ARNOLD |