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. Written in Keats' “Endymion”
2. The Two Peacocks of Bedfont
3. Ode on a Distant Prospect of Clapham Academy
4. Song (The stars are with the voyager)
5. Stanzas (Is there a bitter pang for love removed)

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

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