Weathers

This is the weather the cuckoo likes
And so do I
When showers betumble the chestnut spikes
And nestlings fly
And the little brown nightingale builds his nest
And they sit outside at the Traveller's Rest
And maids come forth sprig-muslin dressed
And citizens dream of the South and West
And so do I

This is the weather the shepherd shuns
And so do I
When beeches drip in browns and duns
And fresh, and fly
The hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe
And meadow rivulets overflow
And drops on gate-bars hang in a row
And rooks in families homeward go
And so do I