Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 85

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LXXXV
Come back to me my swallow
 And leave me not forlorn,
Into the woods I follow
 The footsteps of the morn.
I thread the rustling hollow
 Before the day is born,
Come back to me my swallow
 And leave me not forlorn!
 ​The light was dark without thee,
 My bird of April days,
I almost came to doubt thee
 When thou hadst gone thy ways—
The sunshine round about thee—
 Into the land of rays.
The light was dark without thee,
 My bird of April days.

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