Thomas Hardy — Weathers

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.