Sara Teasdale’s speaker is alone at night, listening to a swallow’s cry as it flies beneath the stars. The bird’s call sounds sharp as pain, and it seems to be traveling across the world toward someone far away. That image carries the whole poem: her love feels the same way. The longing inside her is a cry that cannot settle, always seeking the person she loves and never finding rest.
The stars are beautiful but distant, and they do not quiet her need. The mood is quiet and aching—not bitter, but full of loneliness and desire. The night is vast, the swallow small and fleeting, and her love feels equally lost in that immensity, endlessly calling out for someone beyond reach.