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 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 rivulets overflow,
And drops on gate bars hang in a row,
And rooks in families homeward go,
            And so do I.