Chimney Swallows I love thee much; For well thou managest that life of thine, 1575 Jane Welsh Carlyle [1801-1866] CHIMNEY SWALLOWS I SLEPT in an old homestead by the sea: At night the swallows told home-lore to me, A liquid twitter, low, confiding, glad, Was all the voice; and yet its accents had A poem's golden notes. Quaint legends of the fireside and the shore, And sounds of festal cheer, And tones of those whose tasks of love are o'er, And wondrous lyrics, felt but never sung, The heart's melodious bloom; And histories, whose perfumes long have clung I heard the dream of lovers, as they found At last their hour of bliss, And fear and pain and long suspense were drowned In one heart-healing kiss. I heard the lullaby of babes, that grew To sons and daughters fair; And childhood's angels, singing as they flew, And sobs of secret prayer. I heard the voyagers who seemed to sail And sad, weird voices in the autumn gale, And sighs suppressed and converse soft and low And what is uttered when the stricken know That the dear one is dead; And steps of those who, in the Sabbath light, Muse with transfigured face; And hot lips pressing, through the long, dark night, The pillow's empty place; And fervent greetings of old friends, whose path In youth had gone apart, But to each other brought life's aftermath, The music of the seasons touched the strain, The orchard's bounty and the yellow grain, And secrets of the soul that doubts and yearns And gropes in regions dim, Till, meeting Christ with raptured eye, discerns So, thinking of the Master and his tears, I sank in arms that folded me from fears, Horatio Nelson Powers [1826-1890] ITYLUS SWALLOW, my sister, O sister swallow, A thousand summers are over and dead. What hast thou found in the spring to follow? What hast thou found in thine heart to sing? What wilt thou do when the summer is shed? Itylus O swallow, sister, O fair swift swallow, The soft south whither thine heart is set? Sister, my sister, O fleet sweet swallow, Shedding my song upon height, upon hollow, I the nightingale all spring through, All spring through till the spring be done, Sister, my sister, O soft light swallow, 1577 Though all things feast in the spring's guest-chamber, How hast thou heart to be glad thereof yet? For where thou fliest I shall not follow, Till life forget and death remember, Swallow, my sister, O singing swallow, Thy lord the summer is good to follow, But what wilt thou say to the spring thy lover? O swallow, sister, O fleeting swallow, My heart in me is a molten ember And over my head the waves have met. But thou wouldst tarry or I would follow Couldst thou remember and I forget. O sweet stray sister, O shifting swallow, Thy heart is light as a leaf of a tree; O swallow, sister, O rapid swallow, Are not the roofs and the lintels wet? O sister, sister, thy first-begotten! The hands that cling and the feet that follow, The voice of the child's blood crying yet, Who hath remembered me? who hath forgotten? Thou hast forgotten, O summer swallow, But the world shall end when I forget. Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] THE THROSTLE "SUMMER is coming, summer is coming, I know it, I know it, I know it. Light again, leaf again, life again, love again," Yes, my wild little Poet. Sing the new year in under the blue. Last year you sang it as gladly. "New, new, new, new!" Is it then so new That you should carol so madly? "Love again, song again, nest again, young again,”" Never a prophet so crazy! And hardly a daisy as yet, little friend, See, there is hardly a daisy. Joy-Month "Here again, here, here, here, happy year!" O warble unchidden, unbidden! And all the winters are hidden. 1579 Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] OVERFLOW HUSH! With sudden gush As from a fountain, sings in yonder bush The Hermit Thrush. Hark! Did ever Lark With swifter scintillations fling the spark That fires the dark? Again, Like April rain Of mist and sunshine mingled, moves the strain Strong As love, O Song, In flame or torrent sweep through Life along, O'er grief and wrong. John Banister Tabb [1845-1909] JOY-MONTH OH, hark to the brown thrush! hear how he sings! And golden the buttercup blooms by the way, While the melody rained from yonder spray |