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 bills his best, And they sit outside at 'The Traveller's Rest', And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest, 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 thresh, and ply; And 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.