Indian Rain

The wealth of Vaisakh is emptied over the land in pearls;
The Mynah has taught herself another song.
The throats of men are cool after long, hot argument
For the answer has come.

Rain! More rain! The bare paddy fields swim in water,
And the cricket chirps its wisdom from the damp roof-tree;
The buffalo gazes from his water-pool;
The Gul Mohur is in brilliant flower.

The wind shakes the tassell’d rain from bended trees,
A veil has gone from the pervading green.
The prophets of rain lift weather-wise eyes, or
Lean eager ears to the rain-bird’s chanting note.

The country around is as cool as a song,
And the hearts of men are in high-feather.
Ploughs are taken from their places, oxen are unloosen’d,
For the farmer must score his first furrow of the season.