St. Martin’s Summer

AS swallows turning backward

When half-way o’er the sea,

At one word’s trumpet summons

They came again to me —

The hopes I had forgotten

Came back again to me.

I know not which to credit,

O lady of my heart!

Your eyes that bade me linger,

Your words that bade us part —

I know not which to credit,

My reason or my heart.

But be my hopes rewarded,

Or be they but in vain,

I have dreamed a golden vision,

I have gathered in the grain —

I have dreamed a golden vision,

I have not lived in vain.