Every valley drinks, br Every dell and hollow; br Where the kind rain sinks and sinks, br Green of Spring will follow. br br br Yet a lapse of weeks br Buds will burst their edges, br Strip their wool-coats, glue-coats, streaks, br In the woods and hedges; br br br Weave a bower of love br For birds to meet each other, br Weave a canopy above br Nest and egg and mother. br br br But for fattening rain br We should have no flowers, br Never a bud or leaf again br But for soaking showers; br br br Never a mated bird br In the rocking tree-tops, br Never indeed a flock or herd br To graze upon the lea-crops. br br br Lambs so woolly white, br Sheep the sun-bright leas on, br They could have no grass to bite br But for rain in season. br br br We should find no moss br In the shadiest places, br Find no waving meadow grass br Pied with broad-eyed daisies: br br br But miles of barren sand, br With never a son or daughter, br Not a lily on the land, br Or lily on the water.