Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 162

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CLXII
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 meThy 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!
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