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
Nеver indeed a flock or herd
To graze upon thе 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