Gild, sun, the pendent leaves
Silverly dripping,
Call the swifts from the eaves
Screaming and dipping,
Raise the green docks that be
To the ground beaten,
All the washed earth we see
Comfort and sweeten;
Till at soft interval
On the small flowers,
Drops from the thatch-ends fall—
Spent are the showers.
Haste away,
Waters grey,
Spare of your shedding,
Till we bestow our hay
Safe in the steading.