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.

Form: Lyric

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