Classic Poem

LOW-FLYING swallow, tho' the sky be fair,
The sunshine soft,
Thou seekest not with love the upper air,
Soaring aloft;
Thy sharp and gleamy wing goes flashing by me
Thy dusky white and blue thou'lt not deny me!

Thy nest's a bit of mine—thy little home
Set in the eaves.
When roses leave the wall, where wilt thou roam,
When summer leaves?
Not lightly, flying friend, can I forego thee,
The longest day is all too short to know thee!