And the birds of the air have nests.” br br Belated swallow, whither flying? br The day is dead, the light is dying, br The night draws near: br Where is thy nest, slow put together, br Soft-lined with moss and downy feather, br For shelter-place in stress of weather br And darkness drear? br br Past, past, above the lighted city, br Unknowing of my wondering pity, br Seaward she flies. br Alas, poor bird! what rude awaking br Has driven thee forth, when storms are breaking, br And frightened gulls the waves forsaking br With warning cries? br br Alas, my soul! while leaves are greenest br Thy heedless head thou fondly screenest br Beneath thy wing.