This Morning.
Then through the darkness, ere I slept,
I heard them passing by;
Across the roof their brushes swept,
Then cleared the misty sky.
They mopped away with all their might,
And dried the garden soon;
While busy dusters rubbed from sight
The ring around the moon.
And as I throw the shutter wide,
And look out at the dawn,
The garden paths are neatly dried,
And all the clouds are gone.
But hark, where in the morning light
Yon chestnut lifts its dome,
I hear the last, last Weather Sprite
Dragging her broomstick home.