Dreams of Rain Fluttering like fleeting hand o'er final will, my heart, a will-o'-wisp afloat, fled like water

down the windows and I, abed, with fever fraught, afraid? No, not. Why should I, should eye or ear fear the dreary? 'Tis a drizzle not sheets, only drops yet lonely droop the leaves, lean the eaves that o'ershadow house of grass that humblest mouse makes home; whether in glen, or forest, or meadow, weather will water the Earth. Yet, dampened though may dawn the day, neither fawn nor doe disheartened be by canvas grey; hearken, come, ye fey! Spirits of wood and root, arise! for heaven's river and heaven's eyes rest and flow upon the woad, the spears of pine, the loam, the swamp. Fair, these fancies - fen, and fern: oh, garish green! Preened and fed by frog, and weed, and water shallow walking hollow, find me there.