THE blackcaps pipe among the reeds, And there'll be rain to follow; There is a murmur as of wind In every coign and hollow; The wrens do chatter of their fears While swinging on the barley-ears. Come, hurry, while there yet is time, Pull up thy scarlet bonnet. Now, sweetheart, as my love is thine, There is a drop upon it. So trip it ere the storm-hag weird Doth pluck the barley by the beard! Lo! not a whit too soon we're housed; The storm-witch yells above us; The branches rapping on the panes Seem not in truth to love us. And look where through the clover bush The nimble-footed rain doth rush! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAROL: NEW STYLE by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET I'VE NEVER SEEN SUCH A REAL HARD TIME BEFORE' by HAYDEN CARRUTH LETTER TO MAXINE SULLIVAN by HAYDEN CARRUTH MARSHALL WASHER by HAYDEN CARRUTH ON THE INFLATION OF THE CURRENCY, 1919 by ROBERT FROST POETS ARE BORN NOT MADE by ROBERT FROST HER EYES TWIN POOLS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |