Down pours the rain,—a thousand riv’lets flow.
When, as the clouds have broke, th’ incumbent drops—
Like diamonds strewn about the verdant crops—
Sway to and fro in answer to the breeze,—
The bending blade directs them by degrees
Down to the mould; thus mingled with the roots
The earth brings forth its seasonable fruits,
And nature laughs. How good such transient showers,
Unguentous to the parched herbs and flowers!—
The shrubs are cleans’d, as though re-varnish’d o’er,