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.