II.
Now the storm is over,
And the greener plain
Seems to glow and hover
Through the thinning rain.
Now the wind is gusty
In the maple tops,
Striking out the lusty
Storms of gleaming drops.
Now the goldfinch whistles
In his spattered vest,
Balanced on the thistles,
Bolder than the best.
And the hermit thrushes
On the sparkling hills,
Link the dripping hushes
With their silver thrills.