A Shower
You may have seen, when winds were high,
That hesitant buds would not unfold
In garden-borders chill and dry,
Bright with the Easter-lilies’ gold.
Then, suddenly, would come a shower—
The big breeze veering to the west—
And happier music filled the bower
Above the thrush’s hidden nest:
The elm-tree’s inconspicuous bloom
Vanished amidst her little leaves;
In box and bay a fragrant gloom
Inspired the wren’s recitatives:
The woods assumed their delicate green
And spoke in songs that brought you bliss:
Ay, and your withered heart has been
Quickened on such a day as this!
Rowland Thirlmere