The swallow

Come back to me my swallow

And leave me not forlorn,

Into the woods I follow

The footsteps of the morn.

I thread the rustling hollow

Before the day is born,

Come back to me my swallow

And leave me not forlorn!

The light was dark without thee,

My bird of April days,

I almost came to doubt thee

When thou hadst gone thy ways --

The sunshine round about thee --

Into the land of rays.

The light was dark without thee,

My bird of April days.