1 68 With the Birds and Poets 



Then they disappear. Did they drop into the water 

 or hibernate in the mud, as was believed of old, their 

 obliteration could not be more complete. In the last 

 week in March a joyful twittering far overhead 

 announces their return to the Gulf coast, but their 

 hiding place during the intervening five months is 

 still the swift's secret." * 



However baffling the mystery of their winter 

 home, the happy fact remains that they do return 

 to us each spring, and we have the abiding confi- 

 dence of Adelaide Anne Procter that they always 

 will: 



"Where are the swallows fled? 



Frozen and dead, 

 Perchance, upon some bleak and stormy shore. 



O doubting heart! 

 Far over purple seas 

 They wait, in sunny ease, 

 The balmy southern breeze, 

 To bring them to their northern homes once more." 



Bull. No. 185, U. S. Dept. Agri., p. 47. 



