A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/To the Swallow (Sully Prudhomme)
For works with similar titles, see To the swallow.
TO THE SWALLOW.
Thou who canst mount up to the sky,
Not climbing first the summits steep,
But at a bound, and who canst fly
Down to the valley's utmost deep;
Thou who canst drink, not bending low
Beside the font by which we kneel,
But from the clouds rain-freighted, slow,
Far, far above the earth that wheel;
Thou who departest with the flowers,
And with the spring o'er ocean's foam
Returnest, faithful as the Hours
To two things, Liberty and Home;
Like thee, my soul triumphant soars
On dream-wings borne by worlds of light;
Like thee it stoops and skims the shores;
Alike our tastes, alike our flight!
A nest, and power to range at will,
To thee are indispensable;
I need, as wild mine instincts still,
Free life and love unchangeable.