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!