For rain, for rain the parched lands cry,
Reproachful to the cloudless sky.
The hot white fields in light are blinking,
The rivers in their beds are shrinking. ...
Sometimes, to solace my sad heart, I say,
Though late it be, though lily-time be past,
Though all the summer skies be overcast,
Haply I will go down to her, some day,
And cast my rests of life before her feet,
That she may have her will of me, being so sweet
And none gainsay!