In the waning of the moon,
A cloudy morn—fair afternoon.
When clouds appear like rocks and towers,
The earth's refresh'd by frequent showers.
As the days grow longer
The storms grow stronger.
Blessed is the corpse that the rain falls on.
Blessed is the bride that the sun shines on.
He that goes to see his wheat in May,
Comes weeping away.
Signs of Foul Weather.
The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,
And spiders from their cobwebs peep.
Loud quack the ducks, the sea-fowl cry,
The distant hills are looking nigh.
Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws,
Sits wiping o'er her whisker'd jaws.
The smoke from chimneys right ascends,
Then spreading, back to earth it bends.