Whence goes the swallow tribes the pathless main

Whence goes the swallow tribes the pathless main
Neer chronicles their flight — we ask in vain
Yet there light lives familiar & the sun
Is by the call of lonliest nature won
To smile — & woods where man hath never been
Is cloathed in joy & beautified in green
Spots blooming on to times unwitnessed springs
& fanned by these aerial wanderers wings

Where the poor sheep boy makes the sun his guide
& measures his lengthening shadow by his stride
That grows his clock by which the time is told
When he may drive his sheep into the fold
& unto such the wandering swallows bring
The plain unerring almanack of spring
When spite of snow & frost & cloudy gloom
With springs young lambs the sweet hedge violets come
Warm sheltered on its banks by velvet moss
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