Barn Swallows
Swallows carry far lands in their wings,
Dips, fluttering turns, and wide windy curves.
Their twitter is sweet as what any bird sings.
They sit in the loft on a rope which swerves
For their twisting, twittering heads, their bobbing
Tails, bobbing like a needle seeking its pole.
I envy them none of this. Not so their throbbing
Recapture in spring of the haunts I would make my goal;
When sight of them, sound of them knocks at the heart,
And something which slumbered wakes with a start.
More musically dances the milk in the pail;
The old dog barks faintly—at nothing, wagging his tail.