Poem by Thomas Hood

The Exile

The swallow with summer
	Will wing o’er the seas,
The wind that I sigh to
	Will visit thy trees. 
The ship that it hastens
	Thy ports will contain, 
But me! – I must never
	See England again!

There’s many that weep their,
	But one weeps alone, 
For the tears that are falling
	So far from her own;
So far from thy own, love, 
	We know not our pain;
If death is between us, 
	Or only the main.

When the white cloud reclines
	On the verge of the sea, 
I fancy the white cliffs,
	And dream upon thee; 
But the cloud spreads its wings
	To the blue heaven and flies. 
We never shall meet, love,
	Except in the skies!

1. The Departure of Summer
2. Ballad (She's up and gone, the graceless girl)
3. Stanzas (Is there a bitter pang for love removed)
4. The Two Peacocks of Bedfont
5. Written in Keats' “Endymion”

Laura Temple The Exile ("Uprais'd the Sun his golden head")

Print

3982 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version