Now the earth's numb limbs are loosened,
Now the streams and valleys waken;
Swallow, come from parched Arabia
To thy nest, six months forsaken,
Which winter's rage and ravage leaves
Still sheltered underneath our eaves.

To a land sun-freed, sun-quickened,
Voyage from a land sun-sated;
Fear no more thy wonted courses, —
Man, the fateful and ill-fated,
Has set at last his seal of peace
Upon thy mountains and thy seas.

Still untrimmed the rose-tree pillar
Stands and spreads thy once-loved perches;
Nearer to thy skiey regions
Grow the poplar and the birches.
Long snows and rains have left the soil
Dissolved and supple for thy toil.

Through the silver silent evenings
Thou didst shape thy careful cradle,
Unaware what other nestling
Dwelt beneath the white-washed gable;
This year, thou dost not divine,
My baby shall peep out at thine.

From thy far wide haunts of freedom
Bring her graces sweet as thine are,
Dews of Nature that shall make her
Pure and strong as sun and brine are,
Spirit-winged, as thou art too,
Joyous, tireless, swift and true.