The maiden ran away to fetch the clothes
And threw her apron o'er her cap and bows;
But the shower catched her ere she hurried in
And beat and almost dowsed her to the skin.
The ruts ran brooks as they would ne'er be dry,
And the boy waded as he hurried by;
The half-drowned plowman waded to the knees,
And birds were almost drowned upon the trees.
The streets ran rivers till they floated o'er,
And women screamed to meet it at the door.
Labor fled home and rivers hurried by,
And still it fell as it would never stop;
E'en the old stone pit, deep as house is high,
Was brimming o'er and floated o'er the top.
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.