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 Travellers' Rest,"

And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest,

And citizens dream of the south and west,

   And so do I.

II

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.