The Princess: a Medley: O Swallow

O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South,
   Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves,
   And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee.
   O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each,
   That bright and fierce and fickle is the South,
   And dark and true and tender is the North.
   O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light
   Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill,
   And cheep and twitter twenty million loves.
  O were I thou that she might take me in,
  And lay me on her bosom, and her heart
  Would rock the snowy cradle till I died.
  Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love,
  Delaying as the tender ash delays
  To clothe herself, when all the woods are green?
  O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown:
  Say to her, I do but wanton in the South,
  But in the North long since my nest is made.
  O tell her, brief is life but love is long,
  And brief the sun of summer in the North,
  And brief the moon of beauty in the South.
  O Swallow, flying from the golden woods,
  Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine,
  And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.
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