In An English Rain
Rained upon any place else
Would just be unpleasant.
But this is an English dell.
Fairy-lit. And not scant
In all what beguiles therein
Aspects Spring's majesty.
Only those drops, might I add
As soft her breath demure
Are requested down. Balking
Which scent wash's allure
Would, by each a petalled cheek
Be seen as irreverancy.
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