At either horn the rainbow drinks the flood;
Huge flocks of rising rooks forsake their food,
And, crying, seek the shelter of the wood.
Above the rest the sun, who never lies,
Foretells the change of weather in the skies;
For if he rise unwillingly to his race,
Cloud on his brow and spots upon his face;
Or if through mist he shoots his sullen beams,
Frugal of light in loose and struggling streams,
Suspect a drizzling day; * * *