Nature's Astrologist, dost promise rain,
In seeping language of the thirsty plain,
Cool from the burning leaves.
And, in good faith, aye! best of faith, art true;
And welcome that rune-chuckled forecasting,
When up the faded fierceness of scorched blue
Strong water-carrier winds big buckets bring,
Black with stored freshness: how their dippers ring
And flash and rattle! lavishing large dew
On tall, good-humored corn that, streaming wet,