They struck before I’d time to curse,
They soaked me like a leather purse!
Caught in the terrier mouth of rain
I had no time for thought or pain;
Dripping and running like a brook
With wetness everywhere I’d look,
Fresh-mated with the fierce keen scents
Where Spring had pitched her lilacked tents!
Almost alive I tramped the wold
Until a stick slid; and I rolled