J. Pherick

The skies are dark and swollen with rain,
Their floor sags heavily round Barrule,
The sun's face fades to a silver stain,
Out of the West the wind comes cool
And full of the scent of rain at hand;
Rain-laden and gusty it sweeps the hills,
Already its onset shakes and spills
The first few drops of the brim-filled cup;
The fern is red, the rivers are up –
Winter beleaguers again our land.

From: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juan-y-Pherick%E2%80%99s_Journey_and_Other_Poems