Explore "Kirkham's Find" by Mary Gaunt on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
O swallow, swallow, flying, flying south, Fly to her and fall upon her gilded eaves, And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee.
Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love? Delaying as the tender ash delays To clothe herself, when all the woods are green?