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Thomas Hardy

This is the weather the cuckoo likes, And so do I, When showers betumble the chestnut spikes, And nesting fly; And little brown nightingale bills his best, And they sit outside ´The Travellers Rest´, And maids comes forth sprig-muslin drest, And citizens dream of the south and west, And so do I.

This is the weather the shepherd shuns, And so do I; When beeches drip in browns and duns, And thresh, and ply; And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe, And meadow rivulets overflow, And drops on gate-bars hang in a row, And rooks in families homeward go, And so do I.

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