Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SWALLOWS, by ANNIE MATHESON


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SWALLOWS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: When the light softens just before it wanes
Last Line: Love's perfect law of liberty we miss.
Subject(s): Swallows


WHEN the light softens just before it wanes
After the splendour of a summer noon,
And honeysuckle fragrance fills the lanes

Where bindweed blossoms will be closing soon
In the cool dew; when the unclouded sky
Leans to the earth, and the wood-pigeons croon

In the still wood; when the greenfinch's cry
Grows plaintive in its lingering drowsiness;
Then do I watch white-bosomed swallows fly

Hither and thither. Silently I bless
The beautiful swift birds that seem to be
Gifted with life that knows no weariness.

Flashing across the heavenly blue, I see
The curvéd wings, black-pointed, quivering white,
Yet near the quiet fields and near to me.

Spell-bound, I watch this noiseless airy flight,
The tranquil speed, the rapid, measured grace
That makes of daily action long delight.

On the far heaven wide-sweeping curves they trace,
Weaving the distant and the near in one,
As though untroubled by the bounds of space.

I, who am tired before the day is done,
Marvel at those bright wings that never tire
Cleaving the still air till the summer sun

Goes down behind the hills in golden fire.
Like a brave swimmer must they hourly breast
A baffling element; no strong desire

Could bear them on, were they not ever pressed
By thwarting air, whereon are beating those
Wide-reaching wings, in labour loveliest.

Sometimes a little do their pinions close,
A little moment do they sink to earth;
But in activity they find repose,

Such rest as we may hope for in that birth
The world calls death, or for a moment find,
In some transcendent hour of sacred mirth,

When love some holy secret has divined;
When pain and effort are a deep delight,
And joy is in the heart of grief enshrined.

Fly, swallows, fly! The lark far out of sight,
Like a true poet, brought the glory near,
The nightingale made music through the night,

At noon the thrush was singing loud and clear:
Thou hast no song! no minstrel thou, sweet bird,
Yet more than all the rest I hold thee dear;

For thou in silence hast within me stirred
New strength to rise and seek the unseen goal,
New faith in harmonies by us unheard;—

The perfect poise that comes of self-control,
The poetry of action, rhythmic, sweet,—
That unvexed music of the body and soul

That the Greeks dreamed of, made at last complete.—
Our stumbling lives attain not such a bliss;
Too often, while the air we vainly beat,
Love's perfect law of liberty we miss.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net