When Swallows Build

When apple-blossom time doth come
And with their scent the air is filled,
And fields are full of buttercups,—
’Tis then the swallows build.

And when the rippling brooks are deep,
Filled to the overflowing,
When o’er the hills and meadows fair
The south wind’s softly blowing,

With sun a-shining, birds a-singing
Till their joyous throats are thrilled,
And with all the world in laughter,—
’Tis then the swallows build.

Catherine Parmenter
(Eleven years old)