 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
THE FAITHFUL SWALLOW
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!”
Its sweetest on
An August day,
“Here evermore,”
I said, “I'll stay;
Not go away
To another shore
As fickle they!”
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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!
'Twas not the same!
I did not know
Fidelity
Would serve me so.
Frost, hunger, snow;
And now, ah me,
Too late to go!
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |