The wind and the rain

And the sunshine again

And the murmur of flies at the window pane!

I weave my rhymes

In the morning betimes,

And it all creeps in with the faint word chimes.

For the wind is there,

Wet skies and fair,

And the buzz of the flies there too somewhere,

And there is the beat

Of the passers' feet

Gone echoing down the hidden street.