But when the winged thunder takes his way
From the cold north, and east and west engage,
And at their frontiers meet with equal rage,
The clouds are crushed; a glut of gathered rain
The hollow ditches fills and floats the plain,
And sailors furl their dripping sheets amain.
Rain.
Wet weather seldom hurts the most unwise—
So plain the signs, such prophets are the skies;
Crane.