Shall I go in such wet weather By the lane or over the hill?-- Where the blossoming milkweed's feather The drops like diamonds fill; Where, draggled and drenched together, The ox-eyes rank the rill, To the old corn-mill.
The creek by now is swollen, And its foaming cascades sound; And the lilies, smeared with pollen, In the dam look dull and drowned. 'Tis a path I oft have stolen To the bridge that rambles round With willows bound.
Through a valley wild with berry, Packed thick with the iron-weeds, And elder,--washed and very Fragrant,--the fenced path leads; Past oak and wilding cherry To a place of flags and reeds, That the water bredes.
The sun through the sad sky bleaches-- Is that a thrush that calls? That bird who so beseeches? And see! on the balsam's balls, And leaves of the water-beeches-- One blister of wart-like galls-- No raindrop falls.
My shawl instead of a bonnet!... Though the woods be soaking yet, Through the wet to the rock I'll run it,-- How sweet to meet i' the wet! Our rock with the vine upon it,-- Each flower a fiery jet-- Where oft we've met!
How fresh the purple clover Smells in its veil of rain! And where the leaves brim over How fragrant is the lane! See, how the sodden acres, Forlorn of all their rakers, Their hay and harvest makers, Look green as spring again.
Drops from the trumpet flowers Rain on us as we pass; And every zephyr showers, From tilted leaf or grass, Clear beads of moisture, seeming Pale, pointed emeralds gleaming; Where, through the green boughs streaming, The daylight strikes like glass.
How dewy, clean and fragrant Look now the green and gold!-- And breezes trailing vagrant Spill all the spice they hold. The west begins to glimmer; And shadows, stretching slimmer, Crouch on the ways; and dimmer Grow field and forest old.
Beyond those rainy reaches Of woodland, far and lone, A whippoorwill beseeches; And now an owl's vague moan Strikes faint upon the hearing.-- These say the dusk is nearing. And, see, the heavens clearing Take on a tender tone.
How feebly chirps the cricket! How thin the tree-toads cry! Blurred in the wild-rose thicket Gleams wet the firefly.-- This way toward home is nearest; Of weeds and briars clearest.... We'll meet to-morrow, dearest; Till then, dear heart, good-bye.