A joyous springtide shower of rain
And God's first rainbow o'er the countryside!
The sower lays the seed-cloth down
Paces the soil where he has sown.
Though frosts may come, yet shall the sacred tilth
Be never marred.
For its one statute is to burgeon and to thrive,
To thrive though storm and sleet befall,
The worthy grandsires warm them by the chimney-side
And ancient wisdom, ancient ways they ponder o'er
And ancient weather-lore.
“The Months” (1915—18).