Remember Me When I Am Gone Away,

It's Surely Summer. For There's A Swallow: Come One Swallow, His Mate Will Follow, The Bird Race Quicken And Wheel And Thicken.

There Is No Time Like Spring When Life's Alive In Everything, Before New Nestlings Sing, Before Cleft Swallows Speed Their Journey Back Along The Trackless Track.

I Might Show Facts As Plain As Day: But, Since Your Eyes Are Blind, You'd Say, 'where? What?' And Turn Away.

Does The Road Wind Up-hill All The Way? Yes, To The Very End.

Gone Were But The Winter, Come Were But The Spring, I Would Go To A Covert Where The Birds Sing; Where In The Whitethorn Singeth A Thrush, And A Robin Sings In The Holly-bush. Full Of Fresh Scents Are The Budding Boughs Arching High Over A Cool Green House: Full Of Sweet Scents, And Whispering Air Which Sayeth Softly: We Spread No Snare; Here Dwell In Safety, Here Dwell Alone, With A Clear Stream And A Mossy Stone. Here The Sun Shineth Most Shadily; Here Is Heard An Echo Of The Far Sea, Though Far Off It Be.