From Jean Pierre Claris Florian <br /> <br />I love to see the swallows come <br />At my window twittering, <br />Bringing from their southern home <br />News of the approaching spring. <br />'Last year's nest,' they softly say, <br />'Last year's love again shall see; <br />Only faithful lovers may <br />Tell you of the coming glee.' <br /> <br />When the first fell touch of frost <br />Strips the wood of faded leaves, <br />Calling all their wingèd host, <br />The swallows meet above the eaves <br />'Come away, away,' they cry, <br />'Winter's snow is hastening; <br />True hearts winter comes not nigh, <br />They are ever in the spring.' <br /> <br />If by some unhappy fate, <br />Victim of a cruel mind, <br />One is parted from her mate <br />And within a cage confined, <br />Swiftly will the swallow die, <br />Pining for her lover's bower, <br />And her lover watching nigh <br />Dies beside her in an hour.<br /><br />Robert Fuller Murray<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-swallows-4/
