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Weathers
by
Thomas Hardy
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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
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