Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE RETURN OF THE SWALLOWS, by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE RETURN OF THE SWALLOWS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Out in the meadows the young grass springs
Last Line: "to-morrow the swallows will northward fly!"
Subject(s): Swallows


"OUT in the meadows the young grass springs,
Shivering with sap," said the larks, "and we
Shoot into air with our strong young wings,
Spirally up over level and lea;
Come, O swallows, and fly with us
Now that horizons are luminous!
Evening and morning, the world of light,
Spreading and kindling, is infinite!"

Far away, by the sea in the south,
The hills of olive and slopes of fern
Whiten and glow in the sun's long drouth,
Under the heavens that beam and burn;
And all the swallows were gathered there,
Flitting about in the fragrant air,
And caught no call from the larks, but flew
Flashing under the blinding blue.

Out of the depths of their soft rich throats
Languidly fluted the thrushes, and said:
"Musical thought in the mild air floats,
Spring is coming and winter is dead!
Come, O Swallows, and stir the air,
For the buds are all bursting unaware,
And the drooping eaves and the elm-trees long
To hear the sound of your low, sweet song."

Over the roofs of the white Algiers,
Flashingly shadowing the bright bazaar,
Flitted the swallows, and not one hears
The call of the thrushes from far, from far;
Sighed the thrushes; then, all at once,
Broke out singing the old sweet tones,
Singing the bridal of sap and shoot,
The tree's slow life between root and fruit.

But just when the dingles of April flowers
Shine with the earliest daffodils,
When, before sunrise, the cold clear hours
Gleam with a promise that noon fulfils, --
Deep in the leafage the cuckoo cried,
Perched on a spray by a rivulet side,
"Swallows, O Swallows, come back again,
To swoop, and herald the April rain.

And something awoke in the slumbering heart
Of the alien birds in their African air,
And they paused, and alighted, and twittered apart,
And met in the broad white dreamy square,
And the sad slave-woman, who lifted up
From the fountain her broad-lipped earthen cup,
Said to herself, with a weary sigh,
"To-morrow the swallows will northward fly!"





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