Poems (Hardy)/November rain

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NOVEMBER RAIN

'T IS morning, dim with quiet rain;
A cloud of blackbirds on the wing
    Sweep out of sight
    In rhythmic flight,
And leave for proof that they can sing
A heart-stirred memory of the spring
Reverberate within the brain,
That rhymes it with November rain.

Tis morning, gray with quiet rain;
A lark, from sight by earth-hues caught,
    Alternate feeds,
    And blithely leads
In sweet response of song my thought,
Until, I know not how, is wrought
An unpremeditated strain
That rhymes it with November rain.

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