It’s a year almost that I have not seen her:

Oh, last summer green things were greener,

Brambles fewer, the blue sky bluer.

It’s surely summer, for there’s a swallow:

Come one swallow, his mate will follow,

The bird race quicken and wheel and thicken.

Oh happy swallow whose mate will follow

O’er height, o’er hollow! I’d be a swallow,

To build this weather one nest together.