Weathers
John Ireland, Thomas Hardy
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 rivulеts overflow
And drops on gate bars hang in a row
And rooks in families homеward go
And so do I