This many and many a day from my door
Without a top-coat or a gingham I've sallied;
And now, will it pour?
O nonsense! The omens have all been so cheery;
The Times, in its forecasts, have been so cock-sure.
Can we all have been wrong? Nay, a prospect so dreary
I cannot endure.
Some local disturbances truly I've heard of.
Our foes make the most of such little mishaps;
But then they mean nothing; it's really absurd of