by Thomas Hardy (1840 - 1928)

The faithful swallow
Language: English 
When summer shone
Its sweetest on
An August day,
"Here evermore,"
I said, "I'll stay;
Not go away
To another shore
As fickle they!"

December came:
'Twas not the same!
I did not know
Fidelity
Would serve me so.
Frost, hunger, snow;
And now, ah me,
Too late to go!

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2013-12-01
Line count: 16
Word count: 50