When the sun goes pale to bed,
’Twill rain to-morrow, it is said.
When the clouds are upon the hills,
They come down by the mills.
Mackerel sky and mares’ tails
Make lofty ships carry low sails.
When the wind veers against the sun,
Trust it not, for back it will run.
When the wind is in the south,
It is in the rain’s mouth.