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John Clare - Sudden ShowerJohn Clare - Sudden Shower
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Black grows the southern sky, betokening rain,   And humming hive-bees homeward hurry bye: They feel the change; so let us shun the grain,   And take the broad road while our feet are dry. Ay, there some dropples moistened on my face,   And pattered on my hat--tis coming nigh! Let`s look about, and find a sheltering place.   The little things around, like you and I, Are hurrying through the grass to shun the shower.   Here stoops an ash-tree--hark! the wind gets high, But never mind; this ivy, for an hour,   Rain as it may, will keep us dryly here: That little wren knows well his sheltering bower,   Nor leaves his dry house though we come so near.
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