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The Exile.

By Thomas Hood

Topics: classic

The swallow with summer     Will wing o'er the seas,     The wind that I sigh to     Will visit thy trees.     The ship that it hastens     Thy ports will contain,     But me! - I must never     See England again!     There's many that weep there,     But one weeps alone,     For the tears that are falling     So far from her own;     So far from thy own, love,     We know not our pain;     If death is between us,     Or only the main.     When the white cloud reclines     On the verge of the sea,     I fancy the white cliffs,     And dream upon thee;     But the cloud spreads its wings     To the blue heav'n and flies.     We never shall meet, love,     Except in the skies!

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"The swallow with summer..."

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"The swallow with summer..." by Thomas Hood

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Thomas Hood

About Thomas Hood

Thomas Hood (1799–1845) was an English poet and humorist whose social protest poems "The Song of the Shirt" and "The Bridge of Sighs" drew attention to the plight of the poor. He was also a master of comic verse and wordplay.

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