The shortest day has long since passed
The sun grows warmer day by day
Old winter's icy grip is loose at last
No longer does he make the grass to lay
Hoary and crisp, pile snowdrifts deep
Or still the beck's wild leap
In frozen sleep

Fieldfares and Redwings all have left the hill
On their long journey east
The bickering Rooks disturb the evenings still
And wheel in noisy flight above the tall Elms, deceased
Tall skeletons gaunt and seer
That fringe the silent mere
Reflected in the water clear

The swallow too has left the desert's sandy waste
Where he has wintered in the torrid heat
Primeval instinct guides him in his haste
To reach his harbourage in the village street
The little nest where he was born
Lies waiting broken and forlorn
By rude winds torn

How do we yearn to see once more
Your graceful flight
To watch skim the lawn, and soar
Free as the air you cleave, to meet the morning light
And all day long to roam the sky
Be it windy, wet, or dry
We hear your quiet twitter passing by

And now, to day, we saw you come my wife and I
Over the downs straight to your old abode
We watched you flutter round the nest close by
And then you rested on the wires that span the road
The year's first swallow
Your nest is on the beam, below
The ancient rafter's sagging bow.