Sonnet 125

Now, welcome swallow! welcome! take thy rest—
The spring is melting every icy stream—
Build 'neath my roof thine unmolested nest;
Here be thy quiet home of peace—nor deem
The bard intrusive, if he bid thee tell
Of distant lands and distant beauties—say
If from yon plains, where all the graces dwell,
She gave thee no sweet message on thy way.
"Thither I flew, for I had often heard
Of charms that dazzled every flitting bird—
Thither I flew, to gaze upon the maid:
But I was so bewilder'd, when I saw,
That eloquent fame itself had failed to draw
Her form—I fled—in silence and afraid."