Winter Rain

Every valley drinks,         Every dell and hollow:     Where the kind rain sinks and sinks,         Green of Spring will follow.     Yet a lapse of weeks         Buds will burst their edges,     Strip their wool-coats, glue-coats, streaks,         In the woods and hedges;     Weave a bower of love         For birds to meet each other,     Weave a canopy above         Nest and egg and mother.     But for fattening rain         We should have no flowers,     Never a bud or leaf again         But for soaking showers;     Never a mated bird         In the rocking tree-tops,     Never indeed a flock or herd         To graze upon the lea-crops.     Lambs so woolly white,         Sheep the sun-bright leas on,     They could have no grass to bite         But for rain in season.     We should find no moss         In the shadiest places,     Find no waving meadow grass         Pied 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.