Weathers

 Weathers

-Thomas Hardy 

This is the weather the cuckoo likes,

And so do I;

When showers be tumble the chestnut spikes,

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 dressed

And citizens dream of the south and west,

And so do I.

This is the weather the cuckoo shuns,

And so do I;

When beaches drip in brown and duns,

And the rest and ply;

And hill-hid tides throb, throe and throe,

And meadow rivulets overflow;

And drops on gate-bars hang in a row,

And rooks in families home wards go,

And so do I.