Classic Poem

O swallow! who fliest far and high,
Halt in thy haste and flight
And carry off my grief and sigh
Upon thy wings, so light!

—I cannot, for beneath such weight
To the deep sea I'd fall;
Trust to the eagle thy sad fate,
His wing's more strong than all.—

O eagle! carry off my woe
To thy waste's stony drift.
—I cannot, for I could not go,
My wings I could not lift.

My broken wing alone I'd find
In looking to the sky;
Trust thy woe to the western wind,
It can take it and fly.—

O wind! that blowest flying past
The lands of all the earth;
What thou tak'st thou dost carry fast;
Take sorrow from my hearth!

—I cannot. Lo! I hasten now,
For far lands do I leave.—
Oh, who will take off, if not thou,
My woe and bring relief?

—I'll take it with me on my way.—
What? Thou, O woman frail?
Does not on thine own heart grief prey,
Dost thou not sigh and wail?

—I have grief of mine own, thy woe
Though I shall carry yet,
And should they break me as I go,
I shall not cry nor fret.