FINIS
The wind and the rain
And the sunshine again
And the murmur of flies at the window pane!
I weave my rhymes
In the morning betimes,
And it all creeps in with the faint word chimes.
For the wind is there,
Wet skies and fair,
And the buzz of the flies there too somewhere,
And there is the beat
Of the passers' feet
Gone echoing down the hidden street.