<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455787" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Belated Swallow</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the birds of the air have nests.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Belated swallow, whither flying?<br>The day is dead, the light is dying,<br>The night draws near:<br>Where is thy nest, slow put together,<br>Soft-lined with moss and downy feather,<br>For shelter-place in stress of weather<br>And darkness drear?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Past, past, above the lighted city,<br>Unknowing of my wondering pity,<br>Seaward she flies.<br>Alas, poor bird! what rude awaking<br>Has driven thee forth, when storms are breaking,<br>And frightened gulls the waves forsaking<br>With warning cries?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alas, my soul! while leaves are greenest<br>Thy heedless head thou fondly screenest<br>Beneath thy wing.<br>How bravely thou thy plumage wearest,<br>How lightly thou life's burthen bearest,<br>How happily thy home preparest,<br>In careless spring!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet Destiny the hour may bring thee<br>When none of all that sing can sing thee<br>To joy or rest!<br>When all the winds that blow shall blow thee;<br>And, ere the floods shall overflow thee,<br>The sunlight linger but to show thee<br>Thy shattered nest</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mary+Hannay+Foott">Mary Hannay Foott</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455787" data-title="The Belated Swallow de Mary Hannay Foott" data-description="And the birds of the air have nests.” Belated swallow, whither flying? The day is dead, the light is dying, The night draws near: Where is thy nest, slow put together, Soft-lined with moss and downy feather, For shelter-place in stress of weath..."></div> </div> </div>

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