Song of William Hermanns

                        England

The swallows travel northward
Above the storm rocked sea.
There is no tree, no meadow,
No flowered canopy.

The waves mount high and buffet
Their wings with chilling spray;
The clouds let down a curtain;
The birds pursue their way.

A vernal carpet rises
Out of the hidden deep,
Embroidered blue with violets
And dotted white with sheep.

Its fringe has sparkling billows.
Its wood a leafy dome.
The swallows ride the spring breeze
Back to their island home.

                            William Hermanns                 [P071]