Page:Poems Blake.djvu/56

ONE SWALLOW.

The day was gray and dark and chill;
 Though May had come to meet us,
So closely April lingered still,
 She had no heart to greet us;
When, with a swift and sudden flight,
 Wind-blown o'er hill and hollow,
Two gray wings swept across my sight,
 And lo! the first wild swallow.

"Alas, fair bird! thy little breast,
 That cuts the air so fleetly,
Should still have pressed its Southern nest
 Till June was piping sweetly.
In spite of cheery song and voice,
 Thou brave and blithe new-comer,
I cannot in thy joy rejoice,—
 One swallow makes no summer."

Thus, in my thought I fain would say;—
 Meantime, on swift wing speeding,
Its wild and winning roundelay
 The bird sang on unheeding;