Chapter 7 A Fall of Rain

It was at day-break my thought said:

"The moon makes chequered chestnut-shade

There by the south-side where the vine

Grapples the wall; and if it shine

This evening thro' the boughs and leaves,

And if the wind with silence weaves

More silence than itself, each stalk

Of flower just swayed by it, we'll walk,

Mary and I, when every fowl

Hides beak and eyes in breast, the owl

Only awake to hoot."-But clover

Is beaten down now, and birds hover,

Peering for shelter round; no blade

Of grass stands sharp and tall; men wade

Thro' mire with frequent plashing sting

Of rain upon their faces. Sing,

Then, Mary, to me thro' the dark:

But kiss me first: my hand shall mark

Time, pressing yours the while I hark.