HOMING SWALLOWS
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wift swallows sailing from the Spanish main,O rain-birds racing merrily awayFrom hill-tops parched with heat and sultry plainOf wilting plants and fainting flowers, say-- When at the noon-hour from the chapel schoolThe children dash and scamper down the dale,Scornful of teacher’s rod and binding ruleForever broken and without avail, Do they still stop beneath the giant treeTo gather locusts in their childish greed,And chuckle when they break the pods to seeThe golden powder clustered round the seed? THE CITY’S LOVE For one brief golden moment rare like wine,The gracious city swept across the line;Oblivious of the color of my skin,Forgetting that I was an alien guest,She bent to me, my hostile heart to win,Caught me in passion to her pillowy breast;The great, proud city, seized with a strange love,Bowed down for one flame hour my pride to prove.
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