I


This is the weather the cuckoo likes,
       &nbsp And so do I;
When showers betumble the chestnut spikes,
       &nbsp 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,
       &nbsp And so do I.

II

This is the weather the shepherd shuns,
       &nbsp And so do I;
When beeches drip in browns and duns,
       &nbsp 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,
       &nbsp And so do I.