Classic Poem

This summer rain, with rising gust
Of wind, has water'd down the dust,
And wetted leaf and flow'r.
You cannot walk on road, or leaze —
Or grove below the dripping trees,
Or sit within the bow'r.

But mope not here, to see how drips
The rain from eaves or treeleaves' tips,
But come, and sing some rhimes
Below the porch; or go and tell
Within the alcove's rainproof shell,
Some tale of other times.

Or foot a reel upon the floor
Of your old barn, with open door,
There's no foot here that's lame.
And, later on, the wind may blow
The rain away, that I may go
Back home as dry's I came.

But our old roof is weather-proof,
And we can keep you here to sleep.