Dawn that disheartens the desolate dunes, Dulness of day as it bursts on the beach, Sea-wind that shrillest the thinnest of tunes, What is the wisdom thy wailings would teach? Far, far away, down the foam-frescoed reach, Where ravening rocks cleave the crest of the seas, Sigheth the sound of thy sonorous speech, As grey gull and guillemot gather their fees; Taking toll of the beasts that are bred in the seas. Foam-flakes fly farther than faint eyes can follow— Drop down the desolate dunes and are done; Fleeter than foam-flowers flitteth the Swallow, Sheer for the sweets of the South and the Sun. What is thy tale, O thou treacherous Swallow? Sing me thy secret, Beloved of the Skies, That I may gather my garments and follow— Flee on the path of thy pinions and rise Where strong storms cease and the weary wind dies. Lo! I am bound with the chains of my sorrow; Swallow, swift Swallow, ah, wait for a while! Stay but a moment-it may be to-morrow Chains shall be severed and sad souls shall smile! Only a moment—a mere minute's measure— How shall it hurt such a swift one as thou? Pitiless Swallow, full flushed for thy pleasure, Canst thou not even one instant allow To weaker-winged wanderers? Wait for me now!