The swallow with summer <br />Will wing o'er the seas, <br />The wind that I sigh to <br />Will visit thy trees. <br />The ship that it hastens <br />Thy ports will contain, <br />But me!—I must never <br />See England again! <br />There's many that weep there, <br />But one weeps alone, <br />For the tears that are falling <br />So far from her own; <br />So far from thy own, love, <br />We know not our pain; <br />If death is between us, <br />Or only the main. <br />When the white cloud reclines <br />On the verge of the sea, <br />I fancy the white cliffs, <br />And dream upon thee; <br />But the cloud spreads its wings <br />To the blue heav'n and flies. <br />We never shall meet, love, <br />Except in the skies!<br /><br />Thomas Hood<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-exile-3/
