O Swallow, 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
    Bright and fierce and fickle is the south,
And dark and true and tender is the north. 

O were I thou that she might take me in,
    And lay me on her bosom and her heart 
Would rock the cradle till I die. 

O swallow flying from the golden woods,
    Fly to her, and pipe and woo here, and make her mine.  
And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.