WINTER RAIN.
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very valley drinks,Every dell and hollow:Where the kind rain sinks and sinks,Green of Spring will follow. Yet a lapse of weeksBuds will burst their edges,Strip their wool-coats, glue-coats, streaks,In the woods and hedges; Weave a bower of loveFor birds to meet each other,Weave a canopy aboveNest and egg and mother. But for fattening rainWe should have no flowers,Never a bud or leaf againBut for soaking showers; Never a mated birdIn the rocking tree-tops,Never indeed a flock or herdTo graze upon the lea-crops. Lambs so woolly white,Sheep the sun-bright leas on,They could have no grass to biteBut for rain in season. We should find no mossIn the shadiest places,Find no waving meadow-grassPied with broad-eyed daisies; But miles of barren sand,With never a son or daughter,Not a lily on the land,Or lily on the water.
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