DEPARTURE OF THE SWALLOW 165 



Dim on the beautiful fan that he spreadeth, 

 Foldeth and spreadeth abroad in the sunlight, 

 Dim on the cream-white are blue adumbrations, 

 Shadows so pale in their delicate blueness 

 That visions they seem as of vanishing violets, 

 The fragrant white violets veined with azure, 

 Pale, pale as the breath of blue smoke in far wood- 

 lands. 



Here, as the breath, as the soul of this beauty, 

 White as the cloud through the heats of the noon- 

 tide 

 Moves the White Peacock. 



FIONA MACLEOD. 



THE DEPARTURE OF THE SWALLOW 



AND is the swallow gone ? 



Who beheld it ? 



Which way sail'd it ? 

 Farewell bade it none ? 



No mortal saw it go : 



But who doth hear 



Its summer cheer 

 As it flitteth to and fro ? 



So the freed spirit flies ! 



From its surrounding clay 



It steals away 

 Like the swallow from the skies. 



