It’s surely summer, for there’s a swallow:
	Come one swallow, his mate will follow,
	The bird race quicken and wheel and thicken.

Christina G. Rossetti.    

	True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings;
	Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.

Shakespeare.    

	When Autumn scatters his departing gleams,
	Warned of approaching Winter, gathered, play
	The swallow-people; and tossed wide around
	O’er the calm sky, in convolution swift,
	The feathered eddy floats; rejoicing once,
	Ere to their wintry slumbers they retire.

Thomson.    

	But, old Swedish legends say,
	Of all the birds upon that day,
	The swallow felt the deepest grief,
	And longed to give her Lord relief,
	And chirped when any near would come,
	“Hugswala swala swal honom!”
	Meaning, as they who tell it deem,
	Oh, cool, oh, cool and comfort Him!

Leland.    

	The swallow is come!
	The swallow is come!
	O, fair are the seasons, and light
	Are the days that she brings,
	With her dusky wings,
	And her bosom snowy white!

Longfellow.