  Sorrow is come like a swallow to nest, Winging him up from the wind and the foam; Mine is the heart that he loves the best, He dreams of it when he dreams of home. Strange! in the daylight off he flies, Swift to the south away to the sea; But when in the west the ruby dies, With the growing stars he comes back to me. And the rush of tears that tingle and start, With a throb at the throat so he cannot sing, He nestles him into my lonely heart. And he tells me of something I cannot name, Something the sea with the sea-wind sings, That somehow he and love are the same, That they float and fly with the same swift wings. I cherish and cherish my timid guest, For oh, he has grown so dear to me That my heart would break if he left his nest, And dwelt in the strange land down by the sea.
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